


See How They Shine

by starbuckmeggie



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post Series, Santos Administration, Wedding Day, josh and donna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27616927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckmeggie/pseuds/starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh and Donna are finally getting married.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 123
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

_I will comfort you_

The first thing I become aware of is the sound of people talking. Josh doesn’t usually watch TV in the mornings but it’s been known to happen. It’s not at all uncommon for him to have the volume up a little too loud or to be arguing with the people he sees, regardless of whether they can answer him.

I hear some laughter and some of the haze starts to lift from my sleep-deprived brain. My eyes snap open. I’m not at home. I’m at the White House.

I’m getting married today.

My heart starts racing. I have no idea why.

I shift on the unfamiliar bed until I’m flat on my back, staring into the darkness. I’m nervous. Why am I nervous about getting married to Josh? I’ve loved him for a long time; I’ve wanted to marry him for a long time. Why does it feel like butterflies are trying to escape my stomach?

I’m somehow unreasonably nervous and utterly exhausted. The exhausted part is from being forced to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings without my fiancé, and my mother keeping me up fairly late as she insisted on giving CJ, Helen, and Annabeth a blow-by-blow of my childhood, youth, and early adult life. I want to cut my mother some slack—because I can tell that me getting married is very emotional for her—but since she was the one who kept insisting I go to sleep then making me wait as she told “just one more” story, I’m blaming her.

I look over at the clock and groan; it’s half past six. Who the hell is having such a good time in the other room this early in the morning? Granted, yes, I am supposed to be joining the land of the living pretty much any moment now, but this seems excessive.

I grumble as I haul myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to take care of business. I don’t even bother to look at myself in the mirror because I know I’m going to look like something the cat dragged in then immediately rejected. I’m extraordinarily grateful that I went for the extra expense of hiring a makeup artist for the day. I’m going to need an expert to cover the bags I’m sure are under my eyes.

I find my bathrobe and pull it on with a sigh, pausing for a few long moments before I open the door to the bedroom I’m using. I know that once I step outside, the wedding is in full swing. I’m going to have people around me, asking me questions, telling me where to go, doing my hair, making sure I look just right…it’s a little overwhelming to think about. The butterflies flap again, so I take another moment.

I turn and lean against the door, trying to take it all in. In a few hours, everything will be different. I’ll be married to Josh. Even though I’ve known this day was coming for a while now, it’s still a lot to take in. I have to keep reminding myself that we’re both going to be the same people tomorrow that we are right now; we’re just going to be husband and wife.

I hear voices and laughter again and I thump my head against the door as I close my eyes. I can feel irrational resentment welling up inside of me. I’m irritated that people are being so noisy at this time of day, that I was forced to sleep here instead of next to Josh, that I slept poorly without him, that I slept badly the night before my wedding…all of it. I know I need to redirect the rage, but it’s not easy. It’s going to be a very long day if I’m pissed at everyone.

More laughter—that’s definitely my mom. I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s up before anyone else.

I sigh again and make my way out of the room into living room area, not at all amused to find everyone up and at ‘em. “Is this necessary?” I grumble, all of their heads snapping to me.

“Happy wedding day!” CJ exclaims, rushing over to hug me. I’m then surrounded by Helen, Annabeth, and my mother, too, all squeezing me and bouncing excitedly.

“Could we not?” I ask, being released an instant later.

“Ooo, someone’s cranky,” Annabeth says, a twinkle in her eye as the corner of her mouth quirks up.

“Everything all right, sweetheart?” Mom asks, taking my face in her hands as she studies me for damage.

“I’m just tired,” I answer, trying to duck out of her grip. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“I can see that,” she says.

“Nice,” is all I can say in response, still trying to pull myself out of her grasp.

“It’s a good thing you have that makeup person coming,” Helen adds, making a face as she realizes what she said as I turn my death glare on her.

“Did you guys have to be so loud? What are you doing up so early?”

I can see CJ pull a face and back away a bit, looking a little amused. If I weren’t in the middle of being so grumpy, I’d be amused, too. Helen and Annabeth follow her retreat.

My mother doesn’t loosen her grip, making me look her in the eye. “Donna?”

I let out a breath and slump a little. “I’m okay, Mom. Promise. Just tired.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod, feeling a little sheepish. “Yes. I’m sorry. I really just didn’t get enough sleep. I’ll be better once I get some coffee.”

She rubs her thumbs over my cheeks, smiling before letting me go. She ushers me over to the couch, all but shoving me down and pointing at a tray on the coffee table. “We have some tea all ready for you.”

“Thanks, but coffee is what I need right now. I’ll probably have some tea later.”

She runs her hand over my hair. “I don’t think you need any coffee right now.”

I pause, staring at her for far too long. “What?”

She sits down, pouring hot water into a mug. “You’re already wired. I don’t think adding that kind of caffeine to the mix is going to help you right now.”

I blink a couple of times then shake my head, trying to clear away the cotton. “Are you serious?”

“Donna, you haven’t stopped moving and twitching since you got up.”

“What are you talking about?”

She nods her head at me and I look at my hands—my immaculately manicured nails on one hand are tapping on an end table, the other hand is flipping a decorative pillow in every direction it can, and it’s only then I realize I’m standing again, shifting from foot to foot.

“You’re antsy,” she answers with a chuckle.

“Of course I’m antsy,” I exclaim, forcing myself to sit down again. I do notice, though, that I can’t stop from tapping my nails on any surface I can reach. “It’s my wedding day.”

“All the more reason to keep the caffeine intake to a minimum.”

I look to my bridesmaids for support, somehow not surprised to find them all missing in action. Cowards. I don’t blame them one bit.

“Mom, I drink coffee every morning. _Every_. _Morning_. Sometimes more than that. But I _need_ that first cup of coffee.”

“Sweetheart, relax.” She shoves a mug into my hands. “ _This_ is why you don’t need coffee. You’re on edge.”

“I’m on edge because you’re treating me like a child.”

“You just have too much energy. Tea will help calm you down.”

“Do you think the massive headache that comes along with no coffee is going to help my disposition?” I can feel my voice rising a bit.

“Calm down.”

“ _Calm down?_ ”

“Yes. You’re turning red and splotchy. Have some of your chamomile,” she urges, gesturing at the mug in my hand. “It’s soothing.”

Instead, I put the mug on the coffee table, being very careful not slam it. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Donna, language.”

“Language my ass. It’s my wedding day. Due to some archaic notion, I wasn’t allowed to sleep next to my fiancé last night, which means I slept like garbage. Now, my mother won’t let me have my morning coffee. I’m an adult on the morning of her wedding and my mother won’t let me have coffee because she thinks she knows best.”

“Donna—”

“Don’t talk to me right now.”

“Donnatella—”

“I’m serious, Mother. I really can’t talk to you for a few minutes.”

“Hey!” CJ exclaims suddenly, making me jump. “How about a shower?”

“One last hurrah before I get married?” I ask reflexively.

“You sound exactly like Josh when you say things like that,” she says, squinting her eyes at me.

“Sorry. Yeah. I’ll go shower.”

“Don’t forget—you’re not supposed to wash your hair,” my mother says and I pause for a second, making myself take a few deep breaths before I say something unnecessary.

“Okay,” I answer without looking, shuffling back to my room. I close the door behind me and let out a breath. I’m aware that I’m overreacting a bit, but I think it’s fair to say that my mother is being wildly unreasonable. Not letting me have coffee? Seriously?

I start to gather my shower stuff, trying to shake off my foul mood, and notice my cell phone is blinking. I flip it open, grinning when I see a text message from Josh. For a long time he claimed he’d never get into texting, saying that it was just as easy to make a phone call, but since realizing it meant he could communicate with people when he was supposed to be doing something else, he’s become a big fan.

- **Good morning, Gorgeous! Happy wedding day. Hope you slept well. Just wanted to say I love you-**

**-Morning. Slept badly without you. Mom won’t let me have coffee-**

I barely have time to put the phone down before it beeps, letting me know he’s responded.

**-She won’t let you have coffee?-**

**-She says I don’t need it-**

**-Has she met you?-**

I can’t help but snicker at that. I may not have been much of a coffee drinker in my younger days, but working at the White House—and particularly with Josh—helped me understand the merits of a caffeine-fueled life.

**-I’m just really mad right now-**

**-No doubt. Take it easy on your mom, though-**

My eyes grow wide and I feel indignant. He actually agrees with her?

**-What?-**

**-Not taking her side. Understand the need for coffee. Just meant her heart is probably in the right place-**

**-You’re probably right. I’m still irritated-**

**-I promise my first job as your husband will be to bring you coffee-**

**-You’re sweet-**

**-Even if you want it as soon as we say I do, coffee is yours-**

**-I love you so much-**

**-I know my woman. Don’t deny her coffee-**

**-I just need a few minutes to regroup. Going to shower-** I pause before typing again. **–I’ll get over it, I just need to be dramatic first-**

**-Does it make any difference to know how excited I am about today?-**

**-It helps. I’m excited, too. Ready to be your wife-**

With that, I put the phone down, feeling a bit better about things, and pull my hair into a knot on the top of my head. Apparently, my hair styles better when slightly dirty. So even though my hair today is going to be relatively simple, I was told by the hair stylist that’s coming in I couldn’t wash it beforehand to make it easier to deal with. Since she’s done my hair for a few different occasions, I’m inclined to take her word for it.

Still, the shower is less than relaxing. I’m still exhausted, my stomach is still fluttery, and I can’t shake my irritation at my mother. I know it’s ridiculous but I don’t really appreciate being handled, especially not over something like my morning coffee. Caffeine deprivation is an ugly look on a lot of people, myself included, and while I do know her heart is in the right place, it doesn’t mean I’m thrilled with the execution of it all.

When I can’t delay any longer—not without someone coming in to drag me out—I step out of the shower, drying off and lotioning up, taking my time with it. Ultimately, all of this is a fairly big deal. Everything I do today is the last time I’ll do it as a single woman. Well, maybe not single, but unmarried. It all feels kind of heavy. Ready as I am to be married to Josh, it’s unnerving to consider that a huge part of my life is ending.

I have to stop thinking of it as “ending,” though. Nothing is really ending; it’s more like a new chapter, or a movie sequel. Though, sequels usually suck, so maybe I shouldn’t use that analogy. Regardless, getting married is a big deal and it’s not something to be taken lightly, though I don’t think that we have. We’ve talked about it constantly for a long time. We’ve spent the last decade together in some form or another. We’re beyond ready for this.

I force myself out of my head and toss my pajamas back on, adding the robe for extra warmth and putting my cell phone in a pocket, and head back to the living area, not surprised to find even more people roaming about. The hair and makeup people are here, plus extra members of the First Family’s staff and detail. The kids are probably still asleep though I imagine the President is up and in the office by now. Annabeth hustles by, shoving a plate of food in my hands. I look at it dubiously as my butterflies continue to bounce around in my stomach. Food might not be such a hot idea right now.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” CJ says, appearing next to me. “You forced me to eat breakfast on my wedding day and it was probably the best thing you could do for me as my maid of honor, so now I’m returning the favor.” She puts her hand on my back and ushers me over to the kitchen island, all but shoving me in to a chair before flopping down next to me. “I know you probably feel…funky right now. Your stomach’s weird, your head’s weird, and the thought of trying to eat anything right now feels impossible and disgusting but trust me…you’re going to need it. You’ll feel better once you do. You have a lot of hours before you’ll have a chance to sit down and eat again. Today is going to be nonstop beginning in about thirty seconds. Eat now; we’ll try to slip you some snacks as the day goes on, but you’re going to need as much fuel as possible.” She nudges the plate toward me, staring at me until I take a few bites. I’m relieved that it doesn’t feel like it’s going to come right back up, and that it actually does make me feel a little better.

She watches me as I eat, making sure the interruptions are minimal, and I’m vaguely aware of people constantly knocking on the door to the Residence. This place really is a flurry of activity right now.

“Is Donna here?”

My ears perk up at the sound of my name, ignoring CJ as she tries to convince me to keep eating.

“Yes,” I hear my mother answer. “Who are you?”

“I’m Bram. Josh wanted me to give this to her.”

I step away from the island, easing over to the door to find Bram, holding a cup of Starbucks, face to face with my mother. I can see her smile tightly, reaching for the cup. “I’ll just take that—”

He shifts so the cup is out of her reach, looking very uncomfortable with the entire transaction. “I’m sorry ma’am—no disrespect—but Josh said to only give this to Donna. He’s kind of my boss and…I don’t want to have to tell him I couldn’t manage this part.”

I swoop in and grab the cup from him, holding it up to my nose and inhaling the heavenly scent. “My almost-husband is amazing.”

My mother sighs, reaching for the cup halfheartedly. “Donna…”

Bram clears his throat, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere than wedding central. “He said it’s an early wedding present? I don’t know, ma’am. He just said it was vitally important to get a skinny grande caramel macchiato to Donna so she could start her day off right.”

Mom looks skeptical but I’m already sipping my coffee. It’s only at that moment I notice a photographer snapping my picture, and I all I can do is hope they weren’t here when I was fighting with my mom.

The coffee, however, is absolutely perfect. One of our regular baristas must be on duty. Granted, I’ve never had one of these that tasted bad, but there are a couple of people at our coffee shop that seem to do better than others. It doesn’t even matter at this point—it’s just such a relief to feel the caffeine flowing through my veins.

“I hate to break up the _moment_ you’re having with your coffee there, Donna,” CJ says, looking at her watch, “but we actually have to start getting you ready soon.”

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, checking the time. “It’s hardly even eight.”

She smiles at me regretfully. “I know, but the ceremony starts at three and the photographers need a few hours to get all their pictures done.” I make a face involuntarily—I don’t want to think about how I’m going to be twisted this way and that for all those pictures. CJ chuckles a little. “That’s not to mention that you’re going to have to greet a few of the special guests before any of that can happen and you can’t be in your wedding dress for that. I can send Annabeth or Helen in to get their makeup and stuff done first, if you want some more time.”

I nod gratefully, taking another sip of my coffee. CJ squeezes my arm and disappears. I take another sip before I put the cup down—making sure to keep it within view so my mother doesn’t abscond with it—and flip open my phone.

**-Thank you for my coffee-**

The reply is almost immediate. **-Any time-**

**-You work fast-**

**-I’m very powerful. I know people. I get stuff done-**

**-Our marriage is off to an excellent start-**

I’m interrupted from my texting, my mother’s voice jarring me out of my moments of bliss. “Donna, I really don’t think the coffee is a good idea—”

“Really, Mom? This is the hill you want to die on? We’ve had this conversation. You told me I’m not grown up enough to know my own needs and I’m telling you you’re wrong. I have a long day ahead of me and even if—and that’s a big if—the coffee makes me jittery, it’ll wear off before I walk down the aisle.”

“Sweetheart, I’m just trying to help.”

“I realize that, but do you think handling me like that—telling me that I can’t have something like I’m still a child—is the best way to go about it? Do you realize if you hadn’t tried to take coffee off the table this morning, I might have been more open to having tea?”

“All I want is your wedding day to be perfect.”

“And all I wanted this morning was coffee. I appreciate the effort, but also listen to me a little, all right?”

Her eyes grow misty, her mouth turning down a little at the corners. “I’m sorry—this is just hard for me. I know you’re not my little girl anymore and you’ve been able to take care of yourself for years, but watching you get married…it’s hard.”

I feel my own eyes growing wet and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “You had to go and pull the Mom Card, didn’t you?” She chuckles a little at that, sniffling quietly against my ear. “I don’t know what this is like for you. I don’t know what this is like for Dad. But I know I’m excited about today. I’m ready to be married to Josh. I know things are going to be different after this, but it’s going to be a good different. I’m still going to be me. I’m still your kid. I’ll still need you…maybe just not to tell me that I don’t need coffee.”

She laughs loudly at that, holding me tighter for a few moments. “Deal.” She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands. “I know I tell you this all the time and it has absolutely nothing to do with your wedding day, but I’m so proud of you.”

This time I feel tears spill down my cheeks. “Mom…”

“I’m proud of what you’re doing with your life and for taking charge of your future, I’m proud that you want to make the world a better place—”

“You’ve got to stop,” I interrupt her, sniffling loudly. “I can’t handle all that right now.”

She smiles at me, pulling a tissue out whatever magical place moms always keep stuff like that and dabbing my face. “Okay. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper, folding myself against her gratefully as she pulls me in for another hug.


	2. Chapter 2

_When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all_

“Joshua, what on earth are you doing?”

I look up in surprise at the sound of my mom’s voice, clutching my recently discarded pajama pants in front of me. “Thanks for knocking.”

She rolls her eyes, stepping further into my bedroom. “You’re still wearing your underwear; don’t be so modest.”

I clear my throat uncomfortably but keep my pajamas covering as much as they can. “Did you need something?”

“Are you getting dressed?”

“Well, I was until I got interrupted.”

“I _mean_ are you putting on your tuxedo already?”

I glance over at the pieces of it hanging off the back of the door then to the pants I already have laid out on the bed. I nod excitedly. “Yep!”

“Darling, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s hardly after nine!”

“Holy crap!” I exclaim. “I’m getting married in six hours!”

“In six hours, Joshua,” my mom says, emphasizing the “six.” “Do you really think you can keep your tuxedo clean and pressed for all six of those hours?”

I look over at the pieces of my tux again, feeling a twinge of disappointment. “No?”

“I’d say probably not.”

I let out a sigh and pull my pajama pants back on. “I’m just ready to be married.”

She gives me a look I can’t entirely decipher. “I can see that, Josh.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“Of course not. It’s wonderful that you can’t wait to marry Donna. It won’t be that long before we have to head to the White House and you can get ready there.”

I make a face, having already planned on being fully prepared before I leave the apartment. My mother makes a face in return, probably already knowing what I’m thinking.

“Your father would be so proud of you today.”

I blink at her in surprise, smiling a little sadly as I hang up the tuxedo pants so they don’t get wrinkled. “I wish he was here to see this. I think he really would have liked Donna if he’d had a chance to meet her…even if she is a shiksa.”

“Your father already liked Donna,” she reminds me. “He was suitably impressed with her when she first started working for you. He would have loved having her in the family.”

I nod, fiddling with the lapels on my coat for a few moments as I avoid looking at my mom. “I always felt like…I don’t know, like he was disappointed in me.”

She actually gasps. “Darling, he could _never_ be—”

“Disappointed that I hadn’t settled down, I mean. That I never gave him grandkids while he was around.”

“Joshua,” Mom says in that tone that makes me snap to attention. I turn to face her, shocked to see tears in her eyes. “He just wanted you to be happy. He never wanted you to settle for anything. Yes, he would have loved to see you happy like this earlier in your life, but he didn’t want you to settle for the sake of being married or giving us grandchildren. Neither of us wanted that. It doesn’t matter how long it took you to get here or that your father didn’t get to see it. You found the person that makes you happy and you’re going to spend the rest of your life with her. Nothing could make your father and me happier and more proud.”

“Are you sure?”

“He loved you so much. He was never disappointed in you.”

“What about when I decided not to practice law? I know he wanted me—”

“He just liked the idea of being able to see you every day. We’d seen so little of you since you went off to school and your father thought it’d be fun to practice law with you. He wasn’t at all disappointed that you went into politics. All he could talk about most of the time was his son and the difference he was going to make in the world.”

She smiles at me and sits down on the edge of my bed, patting the spot next to her and waits for me to join her. “Josh, you’ll see soon enough—there’s very little your children can do to disappoint you. The fact that they exist is enough. Anyone who expects their kids to follow in their footsteps and gets mad when they don’t is having children for the wrong reasons. Your children themselves are your legacy, not that they continue the family business. That’s why your father never wanted to force you to practice law and I never tried to get you to become a professor like me. Your life’s your own and what you’ve done with it makes me immeasurably proud. You’re the best son I could have asked for. Never doubt that.

“Yes, you waited a _long_ time to get married, but look who you waited for. Donna couldn’t be more perfect for you if you’d ordered her from a store. Your life together is going to be amazing because you’ve chosen to be together. You’ve taken time to accomplish the things you wanted to accomplish and this is what’s next for you. You’re not done yet—I know that much. Marriage isn’t the end of the adventure for you two. Marriage itself is an amazing adventure when you do it with the right person, and Donna’s the right person for you. You’re going to be so happy together and that’s all that matters. That’s all I could ever want for my child. That’s all your dad wanted, too. Never forget that.”

It’s a lot to take in. I take a few deep breaths, not surprised to feel a little catch in my throat. My mother is an excellent orator, maybe even better than my father was, and definitely has a way with words. I didn’t realize I’d had those doubts and questions until this moment, and my mother has effectively put those to rest.

I still wish my dad could be here today.

“Thanks, Mom,” I finally choke out, trying to keep myself in check.

“I have something for you,” she tells me softly, giving my hand a squeeze.

My head pops up and I look at her quizzically. “What? You got me something?”

“Sort of. Think of it as a wedding present.”

“Mom,” I protest, trying to stop her from standing. “You’ve already done too much for the wedding. I don’t need a present.” Despite our protests to the contrary, both my mother and Donna’s parents were not to be dissuaded with contributing to our wedding costs. My mother laid it on especially thick, hitting me with all sorts of guilt and tears about being the only wedding she’d be able to pay for, that she’d been saving for it for years, and so on. She also managed to pay for a good chunk of our honeymoon, telling me that she’s an old woman and what does she need that kind of money for? Getting a present on top of all that seems excessive.

She stands up anyway, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Consider it a gift from your father. I’ll be right back.” She disappears from the room before I have a chance to question her further, leaving me to stare after her in shock. A gift from my father? What could that possibly mean?

She reappears a few moments later, holding a small jewelry box out for me. I give her another look but she remains silent, waiting for me to take it from her. The last time she did something like this, it turned out to be the engagement ring I gave to Donna. Of course, that turned out pretty well, so maybe I shouldn’t stress about this too much.

I open the box to find two worn but shiny gold cufflinks. They’re nice—very nice, really—but nothing out of the ordinary. I pick one up, examining it and finding nothing technically remarkable.

“They were your father’s,” Mom says, answering my silent question. “They were the first pair he owned. He’d just won his first case and I wanted to find some way to celebrate. We couldn’t afford much—I’m sure you know that winning a case doesn’t mean tons of money and I was still finishing college—but he was feeling very proud of himself and rightfully so. I thought he deserved them.” She pauses for a moment, looking at something over my shoulder, obviously lost in a memory. She smiles fondly, a hint of sadness at the edges of it. “He strutted around like a peacock when he wore them. It didn’t matter to him that most of his fellow lawyers had their own cufflinks or that those other cufflinks were a good deal fancier than his; he loved them.

“He became a bit of a clothes horse as time went on; he bought expensive suits and ties and actually owned quite a few pairs of cufflinks but these were always his go-to. I think they gave him confidence. I never really wanted to ask him about it because I thought it would make him feel self-conscious. He always won a case when he wore them.”

I look at the tiny gold objects in awe, feeling myself get choked up again. “Wow.”

“I’d forgotten about them—they’ve been hiding in my jewelry box for years—or I would have given them to you before now. Today feels appropriate, though, and I know he’d want you to have them. You don’t have to wear them today of course, but—”

“I’m wearing them today,” I interrupt, nodding my head decisively. I stand up and wrap my mother in a hug. “Thank you, Mom. This means the world to me.”

“It’s not much,” she answers, “but maybe it’ll help you feel like he’s with you today.”

I breathe in sharply and tighten my grip on her, hugging her for a few long moments before I pull away. “Okay. _Now_ it’s time to get ready,” I say as I reach for my pants again, only to have the back of my hand slapped. “Ow!”

“You have to wait, Joshua. Sam will be here soon to ride over with us, I have a list of all the things we’ll need to bring with us today, and you’re not allowed to put on your tuxedo until we get to the White House.”

“Mom,” I whine, throwing my head back in frustration.

“Just be patient. Within the next couple of hours you’ll be dressed in your tux and you’ll have nothing to do but pace until it’s time to get married.” She grabs the pants before I can reach for them again, taking the rest of my clothes off the back of the door as she leaves the room. “I’m removing temptation. Put on some regular clothes—something nice looking, please—and we’ll start getting you ready to go.”

I sigh, feeling like a petulant child, but my mom has already left the room. I force myself out of that headspace, though, because it’s not something I want to get worked up over right now. It really doesn’t matter if I put on the tux now or in a couple of hours because the end result is going to be the same. My mother’s not wrong, either, because I definitely would wind up spilling something on me before the wedding.

Honestly, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if Donna has spare shirts for me stashed around work, just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

_Your time has come to shine_

“Why get married in February?” Annabeth asks, her entire body vibrating from standing outside.

“Because we’re crazy,” I answer simply, trying to stay out of my own way as a couple of photographer assistants flit about, making sure my hair and makeup are as flawless as possible.

“It’s freezing!” she insists, her voice going up an octave if at all possible, rubbing her bare arms for emphasis.

“Here.” I take the shawl that’s been draped over my shoulders and toss it to her. “I don’t even feel the cold right now.” It’s true—I don’t feel it at all, despite having been standing outside for some time now, taking pictures in various locales. I guess no one felt I needed my bridesmaids for most of those because they’ve been tucked inside the warmth and safety of the White House. I know I have a winter coat around somewhere, but I guess it was easier to just throw something over my shoulders in between rounds of pictures than get me in and out of a coat. At this point, I feel like I’m just along for the ride.

Though the last couple of hours have reinforced just how much I’d never want to be a model. Not that I’m imagining I’ll suddenly have offers, but it’s definitely something that holds no interest for me.

“You’re going to freeze now,” Annabeth points out, though she doesn’t offer to give up her newly acquired warmth.

I shrug carelessly, gazing out at the bleak-looking sky. I don’t usually handle the cold very well but I truly don’t feel it right now. I’ve got too much other stuff to focus on. Still, CJ moves closer to me, trying to spread her coat around me a little, and it’s only another few moments before a staff member I don’t know comes rushing out with my coat. I thank her, but it’s a little wild to me to realize that it wasn’t that long ago that I was essentially her.

“Is it just me,” CJ says, breaking into my thoughts, “or does it feel warmer now? Like, weirdly warmer?”

“It’s just you,” Helen confirms, her teeth chattering.

“All due respect, ma’am,” CJ answers, “but you’re from Texas. Anything below sixty is considered a cold snap there.” Helen snickers but doesn’t dispute the statement. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it snows.”

“Imagine those wedding pictures,” Annabeth sighs, her expression suddenly dreamy. “You might freeze your toes off, but having your wedding pictures will look unbelievable.”

“Who needs toes?” I ask flippantly, though now I am sort of hoping for snow. It wasn’t in the forecast for today, at least not anything above a twenty or thirty percent chance, but CJ’s not wrong. Temperature changes like this, especially when the sky is so gray and cloudy, usually mean precipitation of some sort. We talked about it briefly during the wedding planning stages—not that I could request snow, of course, but what we would do in the event of inclement weather. I knew that as long as Josh and I could make it here, I wanted to get married today, regardless of anyone else being present. But there was a brief discussion I had at some point with a coordinator about having wedding pictures in the snow and how amazing they’d look. Since snow really hasn’t been in the forecast at all for this day, though, I’m not holding out much hope.

“Okay, Donna, over here, please,” the photographer from Wisconsin, Robbie, says to me. “That took a little longer than we expected but we’re all set now.” All the other people that have been circling me and the bridesmaids today have been trying to get him to call me Miss Moss—why, I’m not entirely sure—but he hasn’t been going for it. I can’t say as it bothers me, either, because I’m not a huge fan of that sort of formality. Not a single member of my staff calls me anything but Donna and I much prefer it that way, but I suppose it’s the way a lot of the White House staff is trained. Robbie, however, is actually a longtime friend of my brother Ben, and while I didn’t meet him until a few months ago, for him to call me anything but Donna would be exceptionally weird.

Someone takes my coat again and I’m steered over to a column, waiting as CJ, Helen, and Annabeth are also moved into place. I lift my eyebrow questioningly at Robbie and he just grins at me, unabashed. “I’ve never had a chance to take pictures in a venue anything remotely like this. All of these are going in my portfolio. Do you know how much business I’ll get from photographing a White House wedding?”

I shake my head but I can’t fault him for that. The White House looks good on pretty much any résumé. He certainly didn’t steer us wrong with our engagement photos, no matter how unconventional they felt at the time. “Just tell me what to do,” I tell him, sighing.

“You sound so excited on your wedding day,” he teases. “Put your hand on the column.”

“I’m a little over this part of it,” I answer, doing as he asks, not even flinching when he moves it to where he has in mind. He gently steers my bridesmaids into a line next to me, angling them until he finds just the right spot. “I’m definitely ready to be married.”

“It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it?” Robbie asks, carefully titling my head up a little.

“A _very_ long time,” CJ answers, and if I wasn’t afraid of what Robbie would do if I moved out of this position, I’d elbow her or step on her toes.

“I love a good slow burn,” he answers easily, stepping to the other side of the column and angling himself around it. “I watched Mulder and Scully fight it for years and enjoyed every second of it. Everybody smile.” He snaps a few pictures, the surrounding flashes going off around us. “Less with your teeth and more with the eyes,” he directs, taking a few more shots. He twists his body into some odd angles, even all but lying on the stairs to get whatever it is he’s going for. “Okay, relax your faces, try not to move, I’ll be right back.”

I can hear him scuffling around but the column blocks my view. I can also hear him talking to someone else, but everything’s a little muffled. I’m already tired. I’ve been with a photographer of some sort or another for at least three hours now, not including the photographers that flitted about as I was getting my hair and makeup done. I had several very official picture-takers with me as I greeted a few dignitaries—as I understand it, President Bartlet’s daughter Ellie had to do that on her wedding day as well, though her list was much more extensive than mine. Actually, Josh’s list was much bigger than mine, too, but it was still an extra hour or so with cameras in my face. Since then, I’ve been moved from room to room within the White House, mostly on my own, to pose in various ways for various publications. It’s surreal, and it was a lot more than I expected. There’s been a lot of interest in our wedding, though, and with it being held in such a prominent location, as well as having a former president officiating the ceremony and the current First Lady as a bridesmaid, Josh and I have been the darlings of the social pages. There’s some irony in that because we’re not at all socialites and don’t fit in with those people in the slightest, but our jobs put us in those circles. At any rate, some degree of our wedding pictures are going to wind up in various magazines and newspapers. For security reasons, not every journalist and photographer could be let onto the premises, but they were allowed to make requests for locations, which was how I spent my morning. I just have to hope that I don’t have to go through the same thing with Josh in a few hours. At the very least, Robbie is here for our more personal shots, so this is technically the fun part of the picture-taking process.

Nonetheless, it’s exhausting.

I look up in time to see him trotting down the stairs, carefully maneuvering his camera and tripod combo. He gets set up and waves his hand in the air, drawing our attention to him. “Everyone look this way,” he calls. “Easy smiles.” He takes a few pictures. “Try to look happy, though.” I chuckle and shake my head.

“You actually brought this guy in from Wisconsin?” CJ mutters to me through her teeth.

“You’ve seen his work,” I remind her, trying not to move my mouth. “He’s the one who did our engagement photos at Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“I think he’s just a little overwhelmed with the surroundings. I can ask him to reel it in if he’s really getting to anyone.”

“He’s not so bad,” Helen answers. I hadn’t realized our conversation could be heard beyond the two of us. “Matt and I have run into some real doozies over the last few years. Robbie seems to know what he wants and isn’t wasting any time. That’s more than I can say about a lot of other photographers.”

“Plus, he has less time with us than the other photographers,” I add. “He’s really on a time crunch, and he’s the only one Josh and I really wanted.”

“All right, all right, I’ll shut up,” CJ answers, still managing to speak through her teeth, her mouth pulled back into a genuine smile. “He _is_ doing a great job and some of his picture ideas seem interesting. I think frostbite is starting to set in.”

“Stay there, please,” Robbie calls again, trotting back toward the stairs and disappearing from view. His photography business is small so he has no employees and as far as I understand, he doesn’t even have any friends that help him with this, so he had no one to bring with him to adjust lighting or to arrange people. He’s been doing all of it on his own—other than a couple of White House staffers who were wrangled into moving his lighting rigs from location to location—so it’s not really surprising that he’s been fairly no-nonsense. It doesn’t bother me. I like that he had a clear idea of the sort of pictures he wanted to get and that he’s taken to heart what Josh and I wanted to see.

He appears in front of me suddenly, starting to look a little flustered. “I just want to get a couple more shots,” he tells me, carefully grabbing my shoulders and readjusting me next to the column. “I think you’re turning blue, Donna.” He looks over at all of my bridesmaids, smiling ruefully. “All of you are turning blue.” He moves over to them and starts shifting them onto the stairs, pulling up the screen on his camera every so often for reference. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just get this last picture and we’ll get you all back inside, all right?”

“We’re all right,” Annabeth answers, her teeth chattering. Not an entirely convincing statement.

Robbie maneuvers her to stand closer to me, though a couple of steps down, then stands in front of CJ, looking at her admiringly. “My word, you’re tall.”

“My word, you’re short,” she answers, her tone a little clipped.

He just chuckles. He is actually pretty short—I think he’s just over five feet tall. “I know; that’s why I love tall people so much. Particularly tall women. The height is fascinating to me.”

CJ’s entire demeanor shifts and I can actually see her preening a little. “You flatter me, sir.”

He smiles broadly; even though CJ’s married and Robbie is definitely interested in men, this sudden, innocent flirting is kind of adorable. “I know you’re the maid of honor, but would you be offended if I put you further down on the steps for this, just for balance?”

“You mean I get to stand in the front of a picture?” she asks, genuine surprise and joy in her voice. “Sign me up.” She lets Robbie move her into position and I shiver suddenly, truly feeling the cold for the first time. My dress is voluminous and is doing a decent job of keeping my lower half moderately warm, but my arms and neck and chest are starting to feel the effects of standing outside in February, even if the temperature is comparatively warmer at this point than it was just a couple of hours ago.

Robbie sees me shivering and grimaces, hurrying to move Helen to where he wants her. “I promise we’re almost done. I’m sorry, I know you’re cold.”

I shiver again and bounce on my toes a little, trying to keep the blood flowing. “It’s okay, just…don’t dawdle.”

“You got it.” He hurries down to his camera again, readjusting it to my left, confusing me even more. From my angle, it looks like he’s going to take pictures of the main stairs in between the column I’m next to and the one on the other side. What do I know, though? I’m not a photographer—maybe he has some sort of wide-angle lens he’s using. Maybe he just wants to capture the scope of the outside of this building. As long as this actually is the last set of pictures he wants to take outside, I’m just going to do as I’m told and not question anything at this point.

He waves his hand again, getting our attention. “No smiles,” he calls, which somehow makes me want to smile. Everything’s quiet for a few moments, Robbie stopping every few seconds to look up at us and I suppose make sure we’re where he wants us. “All right, now smile. Be happy. You’re getting married! Today is a good day!”

“Donna’s getting married, Donna’s getting married,” CJ says in a singsong sort of voice, shimmying a little from side to side, making all of us giggle. And really, what else is there to do at this point but laugh? I’m standing outside the White House in a wedding dress in the middle of winter, I haven’t seen my fiancé since last night at our rehearsal dinner, I’ve had a fight with my mother, I’ve been twisted and posed in just about every room possible, I’m exhausted, I’m freezing, I’m hungry, and it this point, I’m just ready for the entire day to be over so I can be married to Josh. Everything is a bit ridiculous.

“Okay, okay,” Robbie says, standing up again. “We’re done out here. Just let me get up there before you go too far so I can get a few candids.” He grabs his camera and tripod and scurries up the stairs, but we’re already moving toward warmth. “ _Wait!_ ” he exclaims suddenly, making us all freeze in our tracks. “Just one more thing. You don’t have to do anything but stay where you are.”

He runs to stand in front of me, CJ, Helen, and Annabeth in a tight formation behind me—to share body heat more than anything else, I suspect. He gives them a few nudges, spreading them out a bit, and starts taking pictures. I’m lost, and I’m sure it’s reflected on my face, but he doesn’t have any comment about that.

“Don’t move,” he commands and runs to somewhere behind me, far enough away his voice echoes as he calls out, “I’m serious—don’t even turn your head.”

His camera clicks furiously and I sigh, feeling the cold make its way into my bones. “What do you think he’s doing?” I breathe, trying not to draw his attention, mostly because I don’t want him to stop and explain what’s going on.

“He’s probably taking pictures of the guys,” Annabeth answers simply.

“The guys?”

“You know—Sam, Toby, and honorary guy Lou. They were all outside, too.”

“They were? Where?”

“Other side of the stairs,” CJ answers, “posing the same way were, I think. Josh, too.”

“Josh is here?” I ask, my voice louder, my head whipping around involuntarily to find him. CJ quickly shifts to the side, blocking my view.

“You’ve made it this long without seeing him,” she scolds. “What’s another few minutes?”

“Is that Donna?” I hear Josh ask, his voice sounding surprisingly far away. “Hey, come on!”

I can’t hear any responses but it sounds like he’s being scolded, too, for having the audacity of trying to see me.

“We’re done here,” Helen calls out, the three of them urging me forward. I can’t help but sigh in frustration.

“Are there really only a few minutes?” I ask, still twisting my head to get a look at him; all I can see are Josh’s ushers, literally ushering him away in the opposite direction.

“We have enough time to get you warmed up before you walk down the aisle,” Robbie answers, walking backwards in front of me, his camera clicking away. A blast of warm air hits me as one of the many guards opens a door for us and we all rush inside, jackets being tossed over our shoulders to try to warm us up.

“Josh was out there the entire time?” I ask Robbie, standing in front of a heater and bouncing up and down a little.

“Yes,” he answers distractedly, taking pictures of us attempting to ward off frostbite.

“Why? What was the point?”

He looks up at me, confused. “Because it made an interesting picture and I think you’ll like how it turned out.”

“But…couldn’t you have just waited until after the ceremony to do that? The effect would have been the same and you wouldn’t have had to coordinate two groups at the same time while trying to make sure neither knew about the other.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just trust me, will you? The effect _wouldn’t_ have been the same. If I take this same picture after the wedding, you’re both going to look like you just got married. But taking the pictures before ceremony gives it an entirely different feel.” He pulls up his camera, concentrating its tiny screen. “You two have this look like something big is going to happen. There’s so much anticipation and tension and it wouldn’t feel like this in another hour. It was a way to get all of you in one place before the wedding without ruining the surprise of the big moment.”

CJ moves to Robbie and looks over his shoulder, her eyes widening a moment later. “These are really good, Donna.” He presses a couple of buttons as she nods, her lips curling up at the corners. “Seriously, it was worth freezing our pieces and parts off for this.”

Helen and Annabeth move to look at the view screen, too, both looking suitably impressed by what they see. “Even those last pictures he took. They’re really interesting,” Annabeth says, looking up to give me a big smile. “And Josh looks so handsome.”

“Let me see,” I demand, trying to get to the camera. Helen actually blocks me, stepping in front of me so fast that I that I never even see her move.

“You have a matter of minutes until you see him in person,” she scolds. “You can wait until then.”

The urge to stamp my foot is so very tempting right now. I think I’ve had my fill of what I can and can’t do on my own wedding day, and the list of what I’m not allowed to do is much longer than the other. I’ve seen Josh in a tux a million times. It’s a fantastic look on him but it’s not exactly a surprise.

Before I can protest, however, there’s a knock on the door, my parents poking their heads in. “We were told we could retrieve you,” my mom says, her voice a little shaky.

My heart takes off at a gallop, all thoughts of sneaking a peek at the pictures gone. “Is it time?” I ask.

“It’s time,” my dad whispers.


	4. Chapter 4

_All your dreams are on their way_

I’m fidgeting. I can’t help it. Any second now, Donna is going to be walking down the aisle at me.

My mother makes a noise from her seat in the front row, making a face at me when I look over at her. She makes a tiny cutting motion near her throat to let me know I need to settle down.

It’s not likely. Not when it’s this close. When I haven’t been greeting people and posing for pictures, I’ve been pacing holes in the floors. I’d swear time actually started moving in reverse at one point.

I’m not at all nervous about getting married—I’m just anxious to do it. After all these years, after everything we’ve been through, it’s finally time for us to make it official, and I don’t want to wait a second longer. If I could, I’d go find Donna right now and carry her in here. If I could, I’d go back in time a few years and marry her then. This is what feels right. It feels more right than anything else I’ve done in my entire life.

I know it’s just going to be a matter of moments, but this feels like it’s taking forever.

The big double doors at the back of the room open up and my heart stops, though I settle down a moment later. Donna’s mom walks in, escorted by none other than President Santos. He’s beaming proudly as if his own child is getting married, and Lucy Moss’s face is a mixed bag of emotions. She’s smiling, but her eyes look a little glassy. I suppose it’s the same look that’s been on my mother’s face all day. She does give me a little wink as the President guides her to her seat, and he sits down just a couple of chairs away.

Molly and Huck Wyatt-Zeigler come down the aisle next, followed closely by Miranda Santos. The whole flower girl and ring bearer thing was a little strange to figure out, but it’s nice to have friends that volunteer their children for those jobs. Neither of the twins cared about doing it, but they weren’t upset with it, either. They’re five—weddings don’t interest them. They look cute enough, though. Miranda, however, made no secret of the fact that she wanted to be a part of the wedding, and having two flower girls seemed easier than any fights or meltdowns. Peter Santos, however, was adamantly against being part of the ceremony. We even checked in with him a few days ago, just to make sure he wasn’t having second thoughts, but walking down the aisle in a tuxedo, having his picture taken more than usual so all of his friends would tease him about it, wasn’t something that interested him. He’s almost a teenager, though, and I guess that has something to do with it. 

Annabeth walks toward us, eyes already brimming with tears. She grins at me broadly, looking as if she wants to run over and start chatting. Helen follows as Annabeth gets in place, and it strikes me for a moment how surreal it is that the First Lady of the United States is in my wedding. Of course, we have Jed Bartlet performing our ceremony, so the weirdness of it all truly knows no bounds, but this’ll probably be interesting to explain to people we might meet in the future.

I also take a moment and force myself to pay attention to what they’re wearing because I know it’ll come up at some point. I know Donna and I know it’s a detail she’ll want to discuss and she’ll be shocked if I have something to say about it. They do look lovely—their gowns are floor-length and in some sort of purpley-gray. I’m sure it has a name, but the fact that I can even be aware of that much right now is fairly astonishing. I do vaguely remember there being a discussion with Lou and her having the option to wear the same dress as the bridesmaids, but she declined. Lou has never been a huge fan of dressing up, never mind wearing dresses and gowns. She wound up wearing a slightly modified tuxedo, her vest the same color of gray as Sam’s and Toby’s. I was amazed that she’d agreed to be in the wedding at all so I didn’t want to be picky about what she wore. We had some people giving us funny looks when they found out that a woman was going to be an usher in our wedding—our families included. The White House, according to some people, isn’t the place to take that sort of “stance.” We’re not taking any sort of stance, though; Lou’s my friend, I’ve known her for a long time, and she was someone I wanted up here with me.

Trust the people of Washington to make a wedding about politics.

CJ starts down the aisle next, grinning from ear to ear. She looks more excited now than she did on her own wedding day, and all I can do is shake my head a little. I’m sure Danny will be giving us all grief over that one.

The double doors click shut again, making my heart stop. I was told that would happen, that it would mean Donna was getting into position and that I wouldn’t be able to catch even a glimpse of her until she starts walking toward me.

My palms actually start to sweat. This is it.

CJ gets into position and the music changes, switching to a very nice rearrangement of the Bridal March. It turns out that we both liked the tradition of that piece, but needed something that felt a little less…grandiose. The version they came up with or created or whatever is perfect.

Everyone stands and my breath catches in my throat. The doors open and there she is.

I’m completely overcome with emotion. I try to keep it in check but I feel my eyes well up and tears run down my cheeks. I clasp my hand over my mouth for a few moments as I try to compose myself but I’m a lost cause. I have to look at her again, and I swipe at my face, trying in vain to keep it dry.

She looks absolutely incredible.

I told her some time ago that I’d probably get emotional when she started walking down the aisle, but I thought I might be exaggerating my reaction just a little. I could imagine being completely stunned by this ethereal creature walking toward you, ready to promise to stand with you forever, and God knows I love seeing Donna dressed up—it always does odd things to me—but I don’t know if I could have prepared myself for just how visceral the reaction would be. I feel like I got punched in the gut. The wind knocked itself right out of me.

Fortunately, I manage to not actually sob, but that’s probably because I can’t breathe.

Leading up to the wedding, Donna didn’t make a big deal about her dress. She didn’t let slip any details and I have no idea where she kept it. I never even stumbled upon her on the phone talking to someone about it. Zero hints, no ideas. I had no preparation.

It feels like it shouldn’t be such a huge thing. I see her dressed up all the time. She looks beautiful every time. But this…Donna in her wedding dress is in a whole different league. I’m sure the enormity of what we’re doing isn’t helping my reaction, but there’s something about seeing her at the end of that aisle, smiling gently at me, that makes the rest of the world fade away and narrow down to just _her_. I cry because she’s beautiful. I cry because we almost didn’t make it. I cry because she’s mine.

I cry because I’m hers.

She looks like an angel. I mistook her for one at one point years ago when I dragged myself out of a morphine haze and saw her standing over my hospital bed—I never told her about that because I didn’t remember it for a long time and when I finally did, I felt ridiculous for even imaging that. But here she is again. She looks positively radiant. She’s moments away from becoming my wife and I can’t believe I ever thought there’d be an outcome other than this. I’m not one to buy into that whole destiny thing, but this feels undeniably meant to be.

A hand claps my back and I glance over my shoulder to see Sam grinning at me, his own eyes a little misty, too. “This is it,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “You ready?”

“More than you’ll ever know,” I answer, my eyes landing on Donna again. Objectively, I’m amazed that I literally can’t see anything but her. I know there is a whole roomful of people here but they’ve all vanished. Even Donna’s father—walking next to her down the aisle—is gone. Logically, I know they’re all here. However, I just don’t care.

My hand reaches out automatically as she gets to the end of the aisle, somehow finding her outstretched fingers through the ether, and I pull her up with me. I can feel my mouth gaping open but I absolutely cannot help it. “You look amazing,” I whisper.

She just smiles at me, grinning from ear to ear, and turns, passing her bouquet off to CJ. Before I know what’s happening, her hands are at my neck, tugging at my bowtie. I can’t help but grin in response. Even though my mother tied it for me a few hours ago, I’ve no doubt managed to screw it up since then, or at least mess it up for Donna’s standards. I hear a gentle laugh go through our guests and it serves to bring me back to reality.

“Donna,” I protest, though it’s half-hearted at best.

She just ignores me, concentrating on her task for another couple of moments before she nods, looking satisfied. I want to tease her about how even on her wedding day, she’s just as OCD as ever, but then she looks up at me and I stop breathing again. It’s everything I can do to not pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi,” she answers just as softly. I take her hands and bring them to my mouth, brushing my lips over the backs of her fingers.

“All right, all right,” President Bartlet says, pulling us out of our little bubble. “Have a seat, everyone.” He pauses as people sit down again, and all I can do is gawk at this beautiful woman standing before me for a few moments before we turn to face the former President. “Welcome family, friends, and loved ones. We’re here today to celebrate the union of Donnatella Moss and Joshua Lyman, two people I’m proud to call my friends.” I blink at him in surprise; Jed Bartlet has called me many things over the years, but this is the first time he’s called me a friend. It touches me more than I ever could have expected. “Some of you may not know this, but I used to be the President of the United States.” It’s a lame joke, but laughter goes through the crowd, making the man beam. “I’ve known Josh and Donna almost as long as they’ve known each other. It’s been an honor to follow them on their journey, even if it couldn’t be my main focus.” There’s another laugh, and I swear people are just laughing to be polite. I love President Bartlet, but he’s not _that_ funny. “Marriage isn’t something to enter into lightly,” he says, his voice softer, more serious. “But I think the two of you know that. It’s a lifelong commitment. It takes a lot of work…but I know what you’re capable of. I know your work ethic. I know you’re willing to put in the long hours and do the research, and most importantly, I know you’ll never give up. You waited for the right person and the right moment and that’s half the battle. I know you’re going to be very happy together.” Donna squeezes my fingers and I look over at her; she’s grinning from ear to ear, her eyes just the slightest bit shiny. The former President clears his throat, smiling at the people behind us. “This all sounded much better in Latin. However, since Josh and Donna don’t speak Latin and are not Catholic, we all decided a ceremony performed in our common language would be ideal.” He pauses again, smiling at us for a few long moments. “Well, I’m sure none of you are here to listen to me ramble on. What do you say we get to the good part? As I understand it, he won the coin toss so Josh will be saying his vows first.”

I grin at President Bartlet and turn to face Donna, taking both of her hands in mine. I’m blown away all over again at how unspeakably amazing she looks today. I pause for a few moments to take her in, to take all of it in. I’m getting _married_. This is the only time I’m going to be doing this and I want to remember as much of it as possible.

I take a deep breath and squeeze her fingers. “Wow.” She bites her lip and nods, squeezing my hands in return. I prepared my vows ahead of time—they weren’t really finalized until this past week, but I thought that was for the best, so I could make sure I could include everything I wanted to say—but I can’t remember one word of them. I have notes in my pocket and I could use those; somehow nothing I prepared feels right. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.” I can hear our guests laugh and I just roll my eyes—everyone has an opinion on this. “It’s weird, you know? You can go almost forty years thinking settling down sounds awful, that only being with one person for the rest of your life would be absolutely boring but…then you meet the right person. The one. And she’s everything you never thought you’d find. She challenges you, she makes you laugh, she makes you think, she makes you crazy…and you know you wouldn’t want it any other way. Suddenly, all you can think about is spending forever together, and that being with one person for the rest of your life sounds absolutely incredible, even though you know it won’t be long enough.

“I _knew_ for a really long time that I wasn’t a commitment guy. I _knew_ that being tied down to one person wasn’t for me. I _knew_ that work was more important than anything else in the world. I _knew_ it. Then I met you. It’s such a cliché but it’s true. Maybe I couldn’t admit it—even to myself—but you changed everything. You turned my world upside down…or maybe right side up. I’d never met anyone with your kind of courage. You made me want to be a better person. You made me want to make the world a better place. All of a sudden, everything I did was for you and it scared me. It’s hard to reconcile the person I was with the person I suddenly wanted to be, and I know it took me way too long to get here but…we made it. Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your strength and your bravery. Thank you for picking my office. Thank you for being you.”

Donna blinks, big tears rolling down her cheeks as she shakes her head. President Bartlet reaches into his pocket and passes her a handkerchief. She laughs as she accepts it, dabbing carefully at her eyes. “I swear to God, if I ruin my makeup because of you and I look like a raccoon the rest of the day…”

“You look perfect,” I whisper, reaching up to cup her cheek. She gives me a watery smile, her teary eyes sparkling at me. It’s no lie, either. No one has ever looked more perfect than she does right now.

“I love you,” she mouths to me, my eyes watering in response.

“Don’t ruin my makeup, too,” I tease.

She hands the hankie back to President Bartlet then squeezes my hands. “I don’t think I can top that.” I want to tease her some more, egg her on, pretend that I’m the greatest and it’s merely cute of her to try to get on my level, but I don’t know that I can bring myself to do that on our wedding day. Besides, we both know that it’s not true. I feel like, especially the last few years, that I’ve been trying to get on _her_ level. I knew for a long time that she was indispensible and invaluable, and I knew watching her work on Bob Russell’s campaign that she’d learned a lot more working for me and at the White House than I’d ever imagined or would have given her credit for. In the last two years, she’s taken Helen Santos from someone unsure if she wanted her husband to even be President to a woman with her own ideas and agenda and has embraced the moniker of First Lady, and who is actually looking forward to the possibility of another four years in office. That’s not to mention all of the work she’s done for school since we took office, earning her bachelor’s degree and is now well on her way to earning her master’s. She’s incredible, and I always sort of suspected that she just needed the opportunity to spread her wings.

“You just winged that, didn’t you?”

“Some of it,” I confirm, bouncing up and down a little. “I had some stuff but then I saw you and everything flew out of my head.”

“You’re the worst. Nothing I say is going to sound as good.”

I grin at her cheekily, squeezing her fingers. It seems that regardless of the situation, it’s fun to ruffle her feathers.

She laughs, shrugging self-consciously. “I don’t even know what to say anymore.”

“Donna, I think the fact that you of all people are at a loss for words says more than anything else could.” She lifts her eyebrow at me, but I mean it in a good way. She’s so rarely unable to find a plethora of words for a situation that rendering her speechless is actually very telling.

She sighs and shakes her head. “I’ve loved you for a long time, but I thought it was always going to be wishful thinking. I thought…I thought it was a pipe dream, and sometimes I was okay with that. I could love you and you’d be my friend and at least you were in my life. You always took care of me, though in your own way. You took the time to teach me, to answer my questions, to treat me like an equal even though I showed up in your office out of the blue and you would have had every right in the world to ask me to leave and, you know, call the cops. I don’t know if you were desperate for help or if you saw something in me, something that could be useful but…it made all the difference to me. You took me in, you stood by me, you believed in me, and it made me fall more and more in love with you. I’ve been falling for years; thank you for catching me. Thank you for loving me at my most unlovable. Thank you for fighting with me and for me. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me. Thank you for being my home. If you promise to take care of my heart, I swear I’ll take care of yours.”

My heart clenches a little and my breathing hitches, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. “You did all right,” I whisper.

She grins at me, nodding. “I did.”

I laugh a little, startled when I hear a few other people chuckling, too. For a few moments, I’d completely forgotten there was anyone but the two of us. I glance over Donna’s shoulder, not surprised to see that CJ, Helen, and Annabeth all look a little misty-eyed. I’m even less surprised to hear Sam and possibly Toby sniffling behind my back. I look over to President Bartlet; he’s smiling at us fondly.

“I think we have a couple of pieces of jewelry for the two of you, if you’re ready.”

“Absolutely,” I answer. I turn a little and Sam passes Donna’s wedding band to me, and just as I suspected, his eyes are very red. He grins at me, completely unabashed, clapping my arm as I turn back to Donna.

“Did you know that it’s commonly believed that the first wedding rings were found in ancient Egypt?” President Bartlet asks, and I hear a collective groan fall out of every single person who worked for him. His tangents and life lessons are legendary, or at least unforgettable.

“Of course, those rings were thought to have been made from braided hemp or reeds. The ancient Egyptians considered the circle to be a symbol of eternity, and wearing a ring signified the eternal love of the two getting married. It’s also believed that this is the origin of wearing the wedding band on the ring finger on the left hand because the Egyptians believed that this finger had a special vein that connected directly to the heart. In fact, Western traditions of wearing wedding rings can be traced back to ancient Greece and Rome and were first associated with—”

“Jed,” Abbey Bartlet says, her voice soft but commanding, and the former President instantly closes his mouth, nodding a little.

“Anyway, enough from me.” The people around us laugh again at one of the most powerful men in the world being chastised so efficiently. It’s nothing new for some of us; it wasn’t uncommon at all during the Bartlet administration to find the good doctor laying down the law where her husband was concerned, even when it applied to reeling him in. “Josh?”

I let out a long breath and take Donna’s left hand in my right. We decided a while back that we weren’t really fond of how the traditional “to have and to hold” stuff sounded, but that left us to figure out something else entirely, and it wasn’t easy. “You are the love of my life, and you’re my best friend. I promise to stand by your side through the good and the bad, the ups and the downs. Let this ring be a symbol of my love for you—no beginning and no end.” I slide the band onto her finger, noticing for the first time that her engagement ring is absent. I give her a confused look and she gives a very slight nod to her right arm, and I assume that means she switched it for the ceremony. The entire exchange takes maybe a second, and I realize then that I’ve just put a wedding band on Donna’s hand. We’re almost married.

“Donna?” President Bartlet says gently. She turns and gets my wedding ring from CJ, who grins and winks at me.

Donna reaches for my left hand and I hold it out to her eagerly, and I do notice her engagement ring on her right hand. Her eyes meet mine and she takes a deep breath. “You are the love of my life, and you’re my best friend. I promise to stand by your side through the good and the bad, the ups and the downs. Let this ring be a symbol of my love for you—no beginning and no end.” She pushes the band over my knuckles and it slides into place. I take a few seconds to admire the way it looks. I’ve never been one to wear much in the way of jewelry—I got class rings for both high school and college but never actually wore them, I wear a watch and the occasional beaded bracelet, and that’s about the extent of my accessories. This wedding ring, however, might be the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen on me.

“Donnatella Moss,” President Bartlet says, “do you take Joshua Lyman to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her big, aqua-colored eyes fill with tears and she nods. “I do.”

“Joshua Lyman, do you take Donnatella Moss to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Not surprisingly, my eyes fill with tears, too. “I do.”

“I thought you might,” he answers. “Well, then, by the power vested in me and the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He then nods over my shoulder and Toby bends down beside me, placing a white cloth bundle at my feet. I glance at Donna and she grins, nodding a little—she really wanted this in the wedding, and who am I to deny her? I stomp on the glass in the cloth and it makes a satisfying crunch beneath my foot.

“Mazel tov,” President Bartlet says. He smiles at me, giving his head a nod toward Donna. “Kiss your bride.”

I let out a big sigh and step toward Donna, cupping her cheek in my hand, my other arm wrapping around her waist. She smiles, her arms wrapping around me and yanking me close, her head tilting as she kisses me. My body relaxes in that moment, relief flooding through me. We did it. We’re married.

There’s a loud cheer from our guests, making both of us laugh a little. I give her another kiss, then another for good measure. We hug each other, squeezing tight. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you more,” I answer, kissing the shell of her ear.

Very reluctantly we pull apart, both of us dabbing at our faces, and turn toward the crowd. Our hands find each other, fingers twining together. She turns toward her bridesmaids, grabbing her bouquet from CJ. We look at each other for a few long seconds, grinning. A moment later, we walk back down the aisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact; the first thing I wrote for this story was Josh’s vows. I don’t even know how long ago because I never dated it in my poor little notebook but it’s been a while.


	5. Chapter 5

_I’ll take your part_

I smile as Josh’s lips find mine again, kissing me eagerly. He’s hardly stopped kissing me since we got married. I’m not complaining, but it made the post-ceremony round of photographs a little tough. It also made eating our dinner before the reception tricky. We’ve been getting a lot of playful sighs and eyerolls and I couldn’t care less. I just got married to the love of my life and I’m planning to kiss him until my lips fall off.

We’ve only been married for about two hours, but they’ve been the best two hours of my life. It made the excessive amount of photographs much more bearable this time around. We also followed just about everyone’s advice to eat before the reception because, apparently, you’re not allowed to really even sit down at your own party. I suppose if it’s rough during the average wedding, it’s going to be even worse during ours.

It doesn’t matter. I’m kissing my husband and all is right with the world.

“You two _are_ planning to come up for air, yes?” Lou asks, her voice laced with her standard exasperated tone.

“No,” Josh mumbles, not bothering to stop kissing me.

“Well, that’ll make things interesting,” Annabeth adds.

We’ve all been standing in the hall outside of the ballroom where our reception is, waiting to be announced. Maybe our wedding guests have already gotten rowdy and it’s taking time to rein them in. The waiting doesn’t seem to be bothering anyone; despite being frequently harassed for our public displays of affection, everyone is in good spirits and chatting animatedly. Our parents are already inside so they can’t weep all over us even more than they already have.

We do eventually stop kissing, but we don’t go far from each other. I’m aware that our wedding coordinator is trying herd everyone into a couple of lines to get them ready for the grand entrance. Josh just puts his hands on my hips, keeping me close, and my mind swirls. He’s my _husband_. Why does that feel so different? The only actual difference between now and this morning is a piece of paper we signed, but somehow…it’s different.

I cup his cheeks, running my thumbs over his dimples. He grins even more broadly and I pull his face back to mine, kissing him thoroughly. This kiss is better than the last one. Honestly each kiss since we exchanged vows has been better than the last. I think I can safely assume that they’re only going to keep getting better.

I vaguely hear someone clear their throat but it doesn’t register as anything that should concern me. I really just want to kiss Josh some more. A throat clears again and Josh sighs, pulling away from me just a little. “Yes?”

The coordinator grins broadly. “Sorry to interrupt but they’re ready to announce you.”

“Let ‘em wait,” Josh whispers, leaning back into me, making me laugh as he kisses me again.

“Josh,” I say a few seconds later, pushing at his shoulder. “All those people in there are waiting for us and they’ve been extraordinarily patient.”

“But I want to spend time with _you_ ,” he grumbles, chasing after my lips again.

“Honey, I know,” I answer, ducking away a little. “Believe me, I know. But we have a lot of people who have come a very long way to be with us for our wedding and we should probably put in an appearance.”

He huffs, actually pouting a little. “Fine. We’ll go in there now.”

I cup his face again, meeting his eyes. “This is just one day—one moment, you know? We have the rest of our lives together.”

His eyes grow hazy and for the briefest of moments I think he’s panicking at that forever thing, but he just grins at me, leaning in for another kiss. How can I resist that? “The rest of our lives,” he whispers against my lips. “That’s wild.”

“I finally locked you in,” I answer, ignoring the world around me again.

“Baby, you locked me in ten years ago. Now you just get to own half of everything I have.”

“Oooo, I’m an heiress.”

He snickers, kissing me for another couple of long moments before the coordinator clears her throat again. We part slowly, taking each other in. “All right, Mrs. Lyman. Let’s go present ourselves, shall we?”

I can’t help but grin at the name. “Ready when you are, Mr. Moss.”

Before we can get lost in each other again, we’re ushered to the grand double doors where I can hear someone announcing us on the inside as Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Lyman—making my husband laugh some more—before everything is drowned out by applause and wild cheers. When the doors finally open, it’s a little like how I imagine what it’s like to be a rock star. Everyone is so excited to see us and apparently very happy for us to boot. We shake hands with as many people as we can as we make our way to the large dance floor. In what turned out to be one of the most complicated decisions of the day, we decided to do our first dance right as we entered the room. More thought and discussion went into this moment than I ever expected, but that’s why we decided our guests should have dinner while we finished up pictures and had something to eat ourselves. We figured making everyone wait around couple of hours after the ceremony only to make them wait some more while we danced would be kind of cruel. At the same time, apparently it’s tough to get everyone’s attention again after you’ve made the entrance and everyone sits down to eat. By the time we got to that point in the decision-making process, I was quite over making decisions. It seemed like such an odd thing to have to think about, and I honestly didn’t care about everyone being forced to watch us dance. It didn’t matter to me as long as I got to dance with my new husband.

The crowd of people actually goes quiet as we stand in the center of the dance space, arms around each other, hands joined as we wait for the music to start. Josh and I have never been the sort of couple that’s ever had a “song.” The first time I really danced with Josh was during President Bartlet’s first inauguration and I have no idea what song was playing. I was too wrapped up in the moment—between being part of a national campaign and getting someone elected to President, the absolute thrill of being at a whole series of balls and borrowing a gown from CJ and my ridiculous crush on my boss and getting to be held in his arms, there was a lot going on. It was tough to pay attention to much else. I remember that the music was good but fairly generic. By the time Josh and I became a couple, we’d danced dozens of times and none of those moments were more revelatory than any other. We didn’t become a couple the way most other people do, so we didn’t really develop an “our song” kind of thing. I have plenty of music that reminds me of him, as he does with me it turns out, but nothing that really seemed like “ours.”

One day, though, early in our relationship—we were actually on our way home from dropping my parents off at the airport after our first Christmas together—Bridge Over Troubled Water came on the radio and he off-handedly remarked that he always thought about me when he heard it. I think that was the first time I knew he associated anything like that with me and it stood out in my mind. I’d always liked the song before that but it definitely started to feel appropriate for us. When the time came for us to pick a song for our first dance, it wasn’t a tough decision. I suppose it had evolved to become our song by that point.

One of the concessions, however, to having a White House wedding was that we couldn’t have a DJ—a strange caveat probably to be expected considering the locale. Also, it turns out that neither of us particularly cared so long as we could dance together. Other than the original Simon & Garfunkel version being the preference, the orchestra that’s been playing for the guests seems up to the task.

We rehearsed our first dance a little a few days ago, not that we were planning anything fancy or crazy. Apparently, trying it out once or twice ahead of time is recommended so you don’t fall over your feet in front of a crowd, no matter how many times you’ve danced together.

It’s completely different rehearsing it than when it’s your first dance as a married couple. I wish I could explain it, but...it’s different.

It’s a good thing Josh is a fairly skilled dancer because I have no idea what I’m doing right now. I have no concept of anything around me. The world has disappeared and all I see is my husband. Just thinking about Josh with that title makes my heart thump erratically.

He moves us slowly around the dance floor, his right hand pressed reassuringly against my back. His left hand is nestled in my right, and his shiny new wedding band catches the light of the ballroom. Up until a few months ago, I had no idea if he would ever wear a ring. We’d never discussed it and aside from the beads he still wears from time to time and a watch, he’s not much for jewelry, unless he’s giving another item to me. I didn’t want to presume that he’d want to wear one. I knew I did—the engagement ring needed a wedding band, but even if there’d been no diamond, I knew I wanted a wedding ring. Still, it was a thrill to hear Josh say that not only did he want one, too, but he was excited about it. He wanted to show the world he was married. It’s a good look on him. It’s also very distracting because I’m not used to it.

I hear the music behind us building and despite the fact that there are no vocals, it sounds pretty amazing and wonderfully similar to the original. I feel an overwhelming ball of…something in my stomach. I feel like at any second, I could burst into tears. I’ve never been this happy in my entire life. I’ve never felt a joy this big. It should be silly because, again the only difference between today and yesterday is a piece of paper.

But maybe it’s what we’ve promised to each other; we’ve promised forever. We certainly were in it for the duration before today, but going through all the pomp and circumstance has made it all sort of hit home. Josh and I are forever. There’s no turning back now, and I absolutely do not ever want to go back.

I’m pretty sure Josh feels the same way if the intense look in his eye is any indication. He looks as overwhelmed as I feel. He fumbles a little, slowing us down bit by bit until we’re mostly swaying back and forth, almost completely oblivious to the world around us. We’re in our own little bubble of bliss and wonder.

Josh lets out a shuddery sigh, his eyes glassy, and he pulls our joined hands to his heart. I tighten my arm across his shoulders. Somehow, we bury our faces in each other’s necks at the same time. Surprisingly, I’m not crying at the moment, and it doesn’t feel like he is, either, but I’m feeling too much of everything right now. This is such an intense moment. We’re not starting a new chapter in our lives—we’re writing a whole new book.

His arm squeezes around my waist, bringing me back to the moment. My brain tries to keep track of the song and where we are with the lyrics, but I don’t suppose it really matters. We don’t have any particular moves planned for this—we’re just dancing.

Josh lifts his head and mine follows automatically, our foreheads pressing together. He tightens his hold on my hand. I can feel him shaking a little. We’ve almost completely stopped moving, hardly even swaying in place. The music of the orchestra fills the air, the song coming to a crescendo. Josh surprises me by releasing me, twirling me out slowly just before the song ends. The smile on his face is massive even if his eyes are a little red. He looks so happy.

He pulls me back into his arms, hugging me tight. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he whispers into my ear.

“Mine, too,” I answer, squeezing him. “I love you so much.”

He presses his lips to mine, kissing me intensely. The people around us cheer and applaud. I can vaguely see lights flashing as our photographers take pictures. In a few minutes, we’ll finish dancing with our parents and then we’ll have to circulate the room, talking to our guests and greeting people that we haven’t seen in some time. We probably won’t have a chance to sit down or dance with each other again for a couple of hours. All too quickly, the evening is going to become the White House and all that goes along with it.

The only thing that matters right now, though, is me and my husband in this moment.


	6. Chapter 6

_If you need a friend_

Considering I got married today, spending time with my wife has been next to impossible. I’d be a lot more understanding if there was something going on with work and I was being called away to deal with it, but we’re just being pulled in a million directions. _Everyone_ wants to talk with us. We’ve been circling the room for more than an hour, sometimes together but mostly apart, stopping to talk to every table and group of people, sometimes being in roped in for a dance with someone. Every time one of us has paused for something as simple as a drink of water, we’ve been accosted by yet another well-wisher. I can’t imagine trying to eat more than a mouthful of food like this—makes me glad that we ate before the reception.

Ultimately, I know it’s a good thing that everyone is so happy for us, and there are worse things they could be doing than offering their congratulations, but it’s kind of gotten to the point of absurd. Even in those moments we’re together, we’re so busy accepting everyone’s congratulations that we hardly get to enjoy each other’s company. My mother manages to grab me every few minutes or so, squeezing me so hard I think she’s managed to crack one of my ribs, sobbing into my shoulder. She’s been doing the same thing to Donna in between. Our dinner and the pictures before the reception were the most time we’ve spent together all day. Even the ceremony itself took very little time—it was great, but it went by in a blur. I know we have the rest of our lives to be together, but I’d like to spend this day that’s supposed to be about us with Donna. Even if people would let us be together when they stop us to talk instead of dragging us to separate corners of the ballroom to greet people, it would be an improvement. The last few weeks have been so hectic with finalizing wedding plans and family members flying in and work in between all that we truly have spent very little time together.

It may make me a petulant child, but I’m about to start stamping my foot if I don’t get my way soon.

I glance around the room as I search for her, not caring at all in the moment if I seem rude to the people near me. I know they’re foreign heads of state—in fact, I’m positive I’ve met them before—but nothing about them registers at the moment, and I really don’t give a damn. When I finally spot her in her elegant gown talking to some other people I probably know, I barely mumble “Excuse me” before I book it across the room. I lean in behind her and whisper into her ear, “Hello, wife.”

She jumps a little in surprise, grinning at me broadly nonetheless. “Hi!”

I give the group of people surrounding her my best grin, hoping to charm the pants off them. “You don’t mind if I borrow my new wife for a few minutes, do you?” I don’t wait for an answer before I take her hand and pull her with me.

“Josh!” she exclaims. “That was incredibly rude.” I notice, however, that she doesn’t stop me.

“Eh,” I answer as I move us out into the hall. “They’ll get over it. It’s our wedding day—I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to spend _some_ time together.” I check out our surroundings to make sure no one is nearby before I pull her behind a column and attack her mouth.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day,” she mumbles against my lips, her fingers sliding against the back of my neck.

“Can’t we get out of here?” I whisper.

“Mmmm, I think it’s bad form to sneak out of your own wedding reception.”

“Donna,” I whine. “I just want to be with you.”

“Temper tantrums are so attractive in grown men,” she teases, smiling against my mouth.

“It just seems ridiculous that on our own wedding day we can’t spend time together.”

“All these people just want to celebrate with us.”

“That’s great but they seem hell bent on keeping us away from each other. If they want to celebrate with us, stop tearing us apart. Let me be with my wife.”

She grins at me broadly, her eyes twinkling, and she cups my cheeks fondly. “I get to spend forever with you.” I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic right now, but all thought leaves my head when she leans in and kisses me again. I suppose it doesn’t matter if she’s teasing me because she’s actually stuck with me now. I suddenly decide I don’t believe in divorce and even if she wants out at some point…well, too bad, I guess, because the only way I’m letting her go is if I die, and even then I’m pretty sure I’d haunt her.

“Josh? Donna?”

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” I growl, turning to sneer at what turns out to be our wedding coordinator, a woman so organized that she might be able to teach Margaret Hooper a thing or two. The corner of her mouth twitches at my reaction as she tries not to smile, and I get the feeling that I’m not the first person to give her this sort of response when being disturbed from a quiet moment with his new bride.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not looking sorry in the slightest, “but I wanted to let you know that it’s snowing.”

Donna’s eyes light up and she bounces up and down a bit, looking every inch like a little girl in that moment. For just a few seconds, all I can see is our own kid—our own daughter, actually; blonde hair, blue eyes, completely enthralled over the snow falling from the sky. It almost knocks me off my feet. We’ve talked a little about having kids, more in the last six months or so, but this is the first time I’ve ever been able to imagine it. Holy shit.

“Josh, it’s snowing!”

“Yeah,” I answer breathlessly, staring at Donna for a few seconds before I snap myself out of my trance. “It’s winter, right? So, snow?”

Donna clutches my hand, giving me a pleading look, and the coordinator fills in. “Donna had mentioned a while back that she wanted to take some pictures in the snow if the weather cooperated. For whatever it’s worth, I think it’d make for some great shots.”

I shrug, sliding my hands around my wife’s waist. “Fine with me. I want what she wants.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Donna says softly, giving me a little kiss.

“Never,” I answer, trying to deepen the kiss, but the coordinator—I really should have tried harder to learn her name, but she’s only come into all this in the last few days—clears her throat again. “All right,” I sigh. “Let’s do this.”

Before the words finish leaving my mouth, we’re being ushered to one of the big double doors that lead to the gardens which, despite being winter, still look beautiful and immaculate. We stand together under an overhang, watching the flakes float delicately to the ground, the snow already coating the ground with a light dusting. I have to admit that it’s a fairly incredible sight.

“Someone will be bringing your jackets out for you in a minute in case you get too cold, but I think the contrast of you in just the wedding attire with the snow and the White House will be fairly amazing.”

“Can we keep it to just one or two of the photographers?” I request, preemptively weary at the thought of all those people out here posing us. “Robbie and someone else? I don’t know that we need to get all of them out here. It’d probably just mean that everyone else will follow and ruin the effect.”

She smiles, nodding a little. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She disappears down the hall and Donna pushes open the door, stepping out into the cold evening air. “Donna, you’re gonna freeze,” I exclaim, following her outside.

“I don’t care.”

“Well, _I_ care,” I answer, opening up my tuxedo jacket. She immediately takes the hint, wrapping her arms around my waist so I can keep her protected from the elements as best as possible. She’s already fairly cold to the touch. “Geez, Donna.”

She just shrugs, holding onto me tighter. “I’ll survive getting cold. This is my only wedding and I want a million pictures. I don’t want to cover up this dress if I don’t have to.”

“You got me there. Have I told you how amazing it is, and how beautiful you look today?” She just grins at me, so I guess I’ve been telling her at every opportunity. I can’t help it, though, because she looks unbelievable. She looks like pure magic, as odd as that sounds.

I let out a sigh as she burrows herself into me. I’ve never been more at peace than I am right now.

“So, you like the dress, huh?” she asks suddenly, making me chuckle.

“Was there ever any doubt?”

She shrugs, a little too casual to be casual. “It’s just nice to hear.”

I pull back a little, trying to see her face while keeping the rest of her warm. “Donna…the first moment I saw you walking down the aisle, I couldn’t breathe. I’ll be honest, you could be wearing a grocery bag right now and I’d still think you look incredible, but this dress is something special.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“It’s a little late now, don’t you think?”

She rolls her eyes but lets out a little laugh. “Fair point.”

I step back from her, taking her hands in mine and look her over carefully—I know it’s what she wants. I’m not sure why she’s suddenly worried about what I think about the dress, but if she needs reassurance, that’s what I’m here for.

It’s…an incredible dress. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen her in. When she has occasion to dress up, she tends toward very form-fitting gowns, things that hug all of her curves, and I _love_ it. Just because I’m allowed to see her naked doesn’t mean I don’t also love seeing things that accentuate her body while fully clothed. It’s a guy thing, I guess, or at least it’s a me thing. Her wedding gown, however, is completely different than all that. It’s fitted through her torso, with a modestly plunging neckline, but it billows out at the bottom in layers and layers of some sort of soft material. She made a joke yesterday about looking like a fancy cupcake, but I think she looks elegant, and beautiful, and she absolutely takes my breath away.

“Honey…there are no words. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Inexplicably, I feel myself getting choked up, a tear making its way out of the corner of my eye, cutting a warm path down my cheek. “I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world, do you know that? You could have any guy you wanted and you picked me. How…”

Donna’s eyes grow wide and she reaches toward me, grabbing my face in her hands. “Josh, you’ve been the only guy I’ve wanted for years, and my lackluster dating history should prove that I in fact could _not_ have any guy I wanted.” She kisses me softly, rubbing her thumbs lightly over my cheeks. “ _I’m_ the lucky one. I’m lucky that your mother didn’t successfully set you up with someone long before I met you.” I can’t help but chuckle at that because it does sound like the sort of thing my mom would have attempted. “I’m so, so lucky that you chose me of all people—”

“Do not start knocking yourself down,” I interrupt. “Remember; that’s my wife you’re talking about and I won’t stand for anyone speaking badly of her. You’ve come too far to not give yourself credit now. You’re a brilliant, funny, wonderful woman.”

“You’re a brilliant, funny, wonderful man,” she counters, sliding her arms around my shoulders.

I shake my head, grinning. “The point is, I don’t want you to sell yourself and your accomplishments over the years short.”

“Aren’t you kind of doing the same thing when you talk about how I could have anyone I wanted?”

“Not the same thing because you know I have no problem bragging about my accomplishments.” She says nothing, but her expression speaks volumes. “I’m just saying I don’t want you to make self-deprecating remarks about yourself in general but especially not today of all days.”

“All right.” She leans in and kisses me again. “So we’re both lucky. And we’re both brilliant, funny, wonderful people.”

“With a combination like that, just imagine what our kids will be like.”

Her eyes go a little wide but her mouth curves up at the corner. “They’ll be pretty great,” she answers softly.

I cup her cheek, running my thumb over it gently. The memory of her childlike joy is moments old and so very fresh in my mind, and all I can think about suddenly is having little people that look like her. Maybe it’s a year or so off—I don’t think either of us are in a rush—but I can’t think of anything I’d like more. Making a family with Donna, living our own version of happily ever after…it gives me chills.

She finally blinks and turns to look at the snow, breaking us out of the moment. She looks back at me, grinning broadly, and steps out of my arms, spreading her arms wide as the snow hits her.

“Donna!” I exclaim, laughing despite myself. “You’re gonna get frostbite.”

She just rolls her eyes and spins in a slow circle, her head falling back to let the flakes hit her face. My heart stops. She’s so breathtaking. I don’t know what it is about her in this moment but it’s something special. I’m briefly reminded of another moment of us in the snow, years ago, of throwing snowballs at her window and yelling at each other and suddenly feeling like I’d seen her for the first time. Feeling completely bowled over by her, by her endless capacity to trust and forgive, by her selflessness, by her strength. I wanted to throw it all away for her then. I should have. Maybe we weren’t ready but maybe we were. Maybe we would have been fine. We would have loved each other, I know that much. That night, that moment, might be my biggest regret. I wasted so much time trying to pretend that I didn’t feel anything for her. That moment, standing in front of her apartment in the snow, should have been _our_ moment. I really don’t want to live my life with regrets—and I honestly don’t have that many—but if there was one thing I could change, it would be that night and deciding to maintain the status quo.

I pull myself from that line of thought and step out into the snow. It’s our wedding day. It may have taken us a long time to get here, but we’re here. That’s all that matters right now. At least for today, I don’t want to waste time on the “what ifs” and “could have beens” and just think about all the stuff that’s going to come.

I catch her hands as she spins toward me and she giggles, stumbling just a little. I tug her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. We pause for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes. She’s my future. She’s my everything. She’s the only place I want to be. I love her so much it hurts. I swallow heavily and start to move, dancing with her slowly around the garden. It’s only the second time we’ve been able to dance together all night.

“There’s no music,” Donna says, tightening her grip on my shoulders.

“Since when do we need music?” I counter. She just smiles and I pull our joined hands to my heart. For a few minutes, we get to dance uninterrupted, and it’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to see the wedding dress, I can post a link. I found it forever ago. Alternatively, if you’d like to just imagine your own, that’s fine, too. Happy 2021!


	7. Chapter 7

_I’m sailing right behind_

Josh kisses my neck and I sigh happily, leaning against the soft seat of the limo. He’s been all over me since we left our reception and I’m not complaining. This is the first time we’ve been really alone since some point yesterday…no, before that, really. We’ve had so much going on the last few days and there have been so many people coming and going, that it’s been madness.

Now, though, it’s just the two of us, getting chauffeured around DC on our way home. Josh balked at the suggestion, feeling we see the city enough and he didn’t want to delay getting home, but in my first true act as his wife, I overruled him. True, it’s been hours since we’ve been at our apartment and hours since we got to sit down and relax, but the trip from the White House to home is so short that I kind of liked the idea of seeing the city at night in the snow. Of course, since Josh has been determined to kiss me in every way possible since we got in the car, I haven’t seen much of the sights.

We’re just going home tonight; everyone suggested that we get a hotel for the evening to make it all feel more special, but that’s not what either of us wanted. Being at home in our bed is the only special we need. It’s not as if we’re leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow, either. That’s not until Monday. We thought since so much of our family and friends would still be in the area, it’d be nice to spend some time with them before they all scattered. However, with the way Josh is pressing his body into mine, I’m starting to regret that decision.

“I love you,” he whispers, making my insides melt like butter. He makes a frustrated noise a few seconds later. “How many damn layers does this dress have?!”

I laugh, shoving at him playfully. “And just what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to feel up my wife!”

I laugh even harder at that. “You can wait until we get home, stud.”

He lifts his head, looking terribly woebegone. “I don’t wanna.”

I cup his face and pull him toward me, giving him a quick kiss. “We have the rest of our lives for you to grope me. We should be home any second now.”

Almost on cue, the limo rolls to a stop. After two years, it’s become a habit to wait for Josh’s detail to open car doors for us, and today has been no exception. My dress is voluminous enough that I really need someone to guide me out anyway so I don’t fall on my face. Still I turn to face the window in anticipation; Josh will no doubt insist on almost climbing over me to be the first one out of the car so he can be the one to help me out, and will probably injure us both in the process, but at least he’s kissing the back of my neck while we wait.

“Uhhh…where are we?”

“Huh?” he answers distractedly.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to dislodge him. “This isn’t our apartment.”

His face appears next to mine, squinting out at the building before us. “That’s not home.”

I roll my eyes—my husband the genius. “No kidding. This looks like the place we ate the night we got engaged.”

“Yeah, I think it _is_ that place. But what are we doing here?”

The door opens and Gus appears before us, gesturing for us to get out. Tentatively, Josh does in fact step over me to get out first, but he stands in front of the limo door, blocking my exit—just in case, I guess. I angle my head so I can see over his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

The corner of Gus’s mouth twitches, probably as close to a smile as we’ve ever seen. “Nothing untoward, I promise.” He gestures at Josh again, who finally steps out of the way and reaches for my hand to help me out of the car. Alex is standing in the doorway, grinning at us. Obviously, something is afoot. The restaurant is dim, which is unusual for a Saturday night, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone hiding in the dark. We’re led through the kitchen, flanked by members of Josh’s—and mine, too, now—detail until we reach a service elevator in the back. Troy’s already inside, looking as stoic as ever; Alex follows us in and Gus stays in the kitchen, assuming his usual position as the elevator doors close.

“So, uh…what’s going on?” Josh asks, looking a little nervous and somehow trying to keep his body between me and everything else, as if he could take down trained, armed security guards if they decided to go rogue.

“Just a pit stop before we take you home, sir,” Troy answers, his face giving nothing away. “It’s completely sanctioned, I promise.”

Josh glances at me, his forehead furrowed. He looks fairly concerned, which isn’t at all reassuring. If this was a TV show or a soap opera, this would _definitely_ be the moment we were kidnapped. I think it’s actually a rule—two people take forever to get together and the second they get married, something huge and tragic happens to disrupt their happiness.

This train of thought isn’t terribly reassuring, either.

I squeeze Josh’s hand, trying not to let the nerves in my stomach overwhelm me. This is fine. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sure most couples are hijacked by a security detail after their wedding. No big deal.

The elevator clangs to a stop. Alex pulls open the door and my mouth drops open. We step on the roof to thunderous applause and cheering, the faces of our friends and family smiling back at us. Tiny white lights are strung on every available surface, making everything glow. I look up, finding strips of gauzy material, giving us a makeshift roof.

“What is this?” I finally manage to ask, looking over at Josh. He looks just as shocked as I feel. CJ and Sam make their way to us, smiling broadly. “I’m…confused.”

“We wanted to do something for the two of you,” Sam explains. “Since you didn’t have an engagement party, or even something resembling bachelor or bachelorette parties—nor did you seem to want either of them—”

“Things that fall under the purview of maid of honor and best man, by the way,” CJ adds.

“And we knew that a White House ceremony and reception would be perfectly lovely—”

“We also knew you were giving up a lot to have a White House wedding, no matter how nice it would be,” Annabeth says, appearing almost out of nowhere.

“So, we started brainstorming,” CJ says. “We did some reconnaissance, asked some questions. It helped that neither of you suspected anything out of the ordinary so you were very loose-lipped about a lot of details, including where you ate the night you got engaged, or how you both wouldn’t have minded having a more relaxed wedding reception.”

“I was the muscle,” Lou adds, trying her hardest to look like she’s not enjoying herself too much. “I had to convince the owners to let us use their place for the night. They were pretty reasonable, considering.”

“Don’t look at me,” Toby says, his hands in his pockets. “I wanted nothing to do with this.”

“Except it was mostly his idea,” Annabeth whispers loudly. “I think he wanted another party.”

Toby’s cheek twitches but he says nothing, which is all the answer I need.

I look around us in wonder, twisting every way I can while never letting go of Josh’s hand. This is amazing. A good portion of our guests are actually here—minus most of the people we invited simply because our wedding was at the White House and it was inevitable that it became a bit of a thing—a couple of long tables are set up and filled with food, making my stomach rumble in response, and a bunch of tables and chairs are scattered around for people to visit each other. I see a sound system set up in a corner, as well as speakers propped up in various locations.

“I didn’t know they could do this,” Josh breathes. “Private parties, I mean.”

“Well, they don’t, normally,” Sam agrees. “But we asked nicely. We told them this is your favorite spot and about your engagement after having dinner here and they were very kind. The only downside is that the Secret Service didn’t think this was secure enough for the Santos’ or the Bartlets, even if we did this in the main restaurant—and that would have been jam-packed—but especially not up here. This was the best there was, security-wise, and we know you like this place.”

“We all wanted to do something for you,” my new mother-in-law chimes in, sliding her arm around CJ’s waist. “You hardly let your own parents help with anything and I don’t know about your parents, Donna, but I’ve been saving for my son’s wedding for a _very_ long time.” The crowd around us laughs, and Josh makes a face at his mother for the comment. “This is a big deal and we wanted to be able to celebrate. I know you two were ready to go home, but we hope you don’t mind spending just a bit more time with us.”

Josh releases my hand and pulls me into his side, squeezing my shoulders. “How can we say no to that?”

“You can’t,” CJ answers, steering us toward the center of the roof. I’m surprised to find that it’s actually kind of warm despite the fact that there are no walls, but I eventually spot some heaters that have been set up around the space in a nod to the winter weather. “You’ll be happy to know that we didn’t hire a caterer—we just had the leftover hors d’oeuvres packed up from the first reception. The cake is here, too. We thought you’d be hungry, and you know how dancing drunk people get.”

“So,” Sam says, “without further ado, we give you The After Party.”

Music starts up and though it has no special meaning for us, I recognize the song and it’s definitely appropriate—Kiss Me. It feels like a song that goes with twinkle lights. Josh pulls me into the middle of what seems to be the dance floor, wrapping me in his arms.

“You really had no idea about this?” I whisper as we move to the music.

“I really had no idea,” he answers. “My plans for the evening involved getting you home and naked so we could enjoy some legally sanctioned sex. This really puts a cramp in all that.”

“That sounds _so_ romantic,” I tease.

“It was gonna be,” he grumbles, but I can tell his heart isn’t in it—he’s just as amazed at this second reception as I am. It’s so sweet that our friends went to this kind of trouble for us. They aren’t wrong, either; our wedding was spectacular and the reception was beautiful, but I know we mentioned a few times over the last several months about some of the things we would miss by not having a smaller affair. We were happy to make the concessions to have a more secure wedding that everyone could attend; we knew we couldn’t have certain things like a DJ and that we’d have to have it catered by a designated company and that meals would have to be served instead of a more help yourself sort of thing, and that there’d be a certain degree of formality to the whole thing because a lot of ambassadors and officials and such were invited to our wedding—another price we had to pay for a White House wedding for someone as high-ranking as Josh, and even more so when the current President and the former President were so heavily involved. We knew all that going into it. We knew having our wedding someplace like that meant it had to be a certain way. I like to think we didn’t gripe too much about it, though I do remember conversations with my bridesmaids and our moms and such and frequently having to say things like “We can’t do that” during the planning phase.

There’s also the fact that we wouldn’t let our friends buy us wedding presents. We have more than enough stuff already. We never had a registry or anything—just places to donate in lieu of gifts. It was enough to have our friends and family with us to celebrate. So something like this—something they planned together, something so fun and personal—means a lot.

It does mean putting off sex for a few more hours, but Josh’ll live. I guess I will, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here’s the link to Donna’s dress. I’m torn on the color—as is in the picture, or more white? Either way, this is the one that speaks to me. https://www.wisebridal.com/3172.html


	8. Chapter 8

_I’m on your side_

So, Reception Part II—The After Party, has been a rousing success. As nice as everything today has been—and it’s been pretty awesome because I got to marry the love of my life who also happens to be one of my very best friends in the entire world—having his party has been so much fun. Everyone has completely cut loose, dancing nonstop, eating all the leftovers, and participating in general merriment. We even have one of our photographers here to capture the revelry. Dancing with my new wife on a rooftop in the middle of winter is the best way to celebrate our marriage. I still can’t believe the restaurant owners were willing to let the space be rented for the night. Sure, Donna and I like this place, but I’ve never felt like we have a special bond with the owners, especially not enough for all this. I feel like that might change after tonight.

My mom finally begged off about an hour ago—dead on her feet but looking completely high on life. She told me repeatedly that today was one of the best days of her life, though not without also mentioning how she thought this day would never come. Donna’s parents—my in-laws now—left not long after that, also looking tired but pleased. Donna’s mom hugged me tight, telling me that she loves me and welcoming me to the family, but the biggest moment might have been Donna’s dad. He refrained from threatening me and instead shook my hand, followed by a big clap on the back. It was the first time I felt truly accepted by the man.

I lean against the makeshift bar—because what’s an after party without a bar?—and watch my wife as she’s twirled endlessly around the floor. I still can’t completely wrap my mind around that she’s my wife. That’s so huge. She’s voluntarily spending the rest of her life with me. I’d love to monopolize every single moment of her time tonight, but I suppose I have a few decades to do that.

Wow. I don’t know why it keeps hitting me like it’s brand new information, but I really get to spend the rest of my life with Donna. It feels too good to be true. I’m still trying to figure out how I got her to agree to any of this. How in the hell did she look at me right before the election two years ago and decide she wanted me? Or that she wanted me again the day after? After all those years working together, after seeing me at my worst, after being a dick to her for no apparent reason, after sabotaging her personal life…after all of that, how did I get so lucky?

I’m never letting her go. I’m going to screw up along the way—it’s a given—but I want to make sure she never regrets choosing me. I don’t know how I’m going to manage that, but I guess all I can do is love her. And I do. I love her so much that sometimes I can’t breathe.

I’m the luckiest man in the world.

A glass of scotch appears next to me, Sam not far behind. He leans against the bar next to me, holding out his own glass to me. We toast silently, my eyes hardly leaving Donna as I take a careful sip of the expensive liquor, letting it roll around in my mouth for a few moments. I’ve been very mindful of my alcohol intake for the evening, mostly because it doesn’t take much for me to get extraordinarily drunk and the last thing I want to be is a slobbering mess on my wedding night. Just because it’s for better or for worse doesn’t mean Donna should have to deal with the “worse” aspect right off the bat.

“How you doing there?” Sam asks.

“I’m great,” I answer, entirely distracted by my wife.

He just chuckles. “You look lovesick.”

“I am.”

“Marriage looks good on you.”

I finally look over at him, lifting an eyebrow in question. He just shrugs. “It does. You look settled.”

“I’m _happy_ , man.”

“That much is very obvious.”

I take another sip of my scotch, watching the dance floor for a while. “Why did I wait so long to do this?”

“What? Get married or get married to Donna?”

I roll my eyes, giving him an exasperated look. “Get married to Donna, of course.”

He just shrugs, taking a long sip of his own drink. “You got me. I could see this one coming a mile away.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not an accusation—I’m genuinely curious about this. People always say they knew Donna and I were going to end up together, but with the exception of my mother, not one person—at least no one close to either of us—said anything of that ilk to me.

“I don’t think there was anything I could have said that would have made this happen any faster. Actually, if I’d said anything to you at all, you probably would have done something stupid and pushed her away. I couldn’t tell you that you were head over heels in love with her because you would have started dating any other woman you could find just to prove me wrong. Hell, you probably would have married Amy to show that you in fact were _not_ interested in Donna.” I can’t help but shudder at the thought. Amy is really good at what she does on a professional level, and she’s been with her lumberjack boyfriend for a few years now so I guess things have changed a bit, but being in a relationship with her bordered on toxic. We had some good moments, but not enough to outweigh the bad, and certainly not enough to make me look back on our time together fondly. I can’t imagine being married to her. I’m positive we’d be divorced by now, if one of us didn’t kill the other first. “I definitely couldn’t tell you that Donna was crazy about you because I don’t know that you had the emotional maturity to not tease her about it mercilessly until she quit.” He’s got me there. I was definitely terrible to her at times, more like that awful boy on the playground being mean to the girl he liked because he didn’t know how to express himself properly.

“You’re probably right. Still, I wish I could have had this with her years ago.”

“Well, why you didn’t go for her after the second inauguration is beyond me.”

My mouth drops open, more in surprise than anything else. “You weren’t even here for that! You don’t know what—”

“You dragged a reporter and three members of the Bartlet staff to Donna’s apartment to throw snowballs at her window. That sort of thing gets around. You should have made a move then.”

“I’ve said as much to her.”

“Well, congratulations on being Captain Obvious a few years too late.”

“You know, this is just the kind of morale booster I need on my wedding day.”

“You asked a question. This is the answer I have for you. You could have made a move years ago. You could have moved her into another office so you wouldn’t have had a conflict of interest. But you didn’t. You sat on your hands and tried to keep her around as your assistant because at least that meant she was in your life and then acted shocked when she didn’t want to put up with it anymore.” He pauses for a breath, taking another long sip of his drink.

“Been holding that in for a while, have you?” I ask, feeling entirely amused at his outburst.

“Do you have any idea how agonizing it was to watch you two? It was worse than a soap opera.”

“I take it you’ve watched a lot of soap operas in your time.”

“The point is, you two are so stubborn—you in particular—that saying anything at all would have been counterproductive, and that might have been the worst part. That, and watching the two of you suffer for so long. I wasn’t fond of that. For the love of God, Josh, you sabotaged her dates. Who does that? You sabotaged her dates and pretended that it was the sort of thing people do for their assistants even though you never saw me or Toby or CJ or even Leo do that—”

“Breathe, Sam!” I exclaim, laughing. “It’s okay; we’re married _now_. We may be stubborn _and_ blind but we got there eventually.”

He breathes heavily for a few moments before his face turns a little pink and he turns away a little, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s all right. It’s nice that you care that much, though. For whatever it’s worth, I’m happy. Donna and I are very happy. It may have taken us far too long to get here but we’re here.” I pause, taking another sip of my drink. “I didn’t realize we’d given you so much anxiety, though.”

“I don’t think I did, either,” he answers with a laugh. He puts his glass down on the bar, pushing it away. “Maybe I’ve had enough.” We’re quiet for a while, watching our friends and family have fun. Naturally, I can’t help but focus on Donna. Right now, she’s being yanked around the dance floor by her oldest brother, Matteo—he’s the only one of the four Moss children that not only likes but insists on being called by the Italian version of his name—and it may be the first time I’ve ever seen the man smile. Well, at least it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile so broadly. He has the same ear-to-ear, face-splitting grin that Donna does; it’s nice to finally be able to see that the two of them are actually related. It’s also nice to see that he looks happy. I’ve always gotten the “I hate you” vibe from Donna’s oldest brother, even after really making the effort to get to know all of her brothers. Ben I have no problems with; he’s five years older than Donna but she says they’ve always been closer to each other than their other siblings. He and Donna both think it’s because he liked being able to play with the “girly” toys that weren’t around before his sister was born. According to Moss family legend, it wasn’t too long after that they all knew Ben was gay. He doesn’t seem offended by the story, so maybe he remembers the “ah-ha” moment, too. At any rate, they bonded from a very young age. He’s almost as much of a wiseass as his sister, so I have some experience on how to handle that. Nick, the youngest, and I get along well enough, though I don’t think there’s ever going to be any sort of bond between us. He’s nice, but not very interested in getting to know me, and honestly, I don’t think he’s terribly interested in getting to know his sister. Since they’re only two years apart, I would have assumed they’d grow up being fairly close, but it was Matteo that clicked with Nick despite their ten year age gap. It doesn’t seem to bother Donna—she says they love each other and that’s what matters, even if they’re not as close as she would like.

Matteo, however, has always been a little hostile toward me. I suppose part of it is because he’s the big brother and that’s somehow his job. In some ways, it’s amusing to me because even though he’s older than Donna by eight years, he’s still four years younger than I am. I shouldn’t actually be intimidated by him in anyway. None of that changes the fact that the longer I’ve been with Donna, the less he seems to like me, and the more he seems to want to threaten my life. It’s made for a few less-than-stellar encounters. So, the fact that he looks like he’s having a good time despite that it was _me_ who married his sister today has to be a good sign. I’ll take what I can get.

At the end of the day, however, all that really matters is what Donna thinks and feels about me. I’d love for her family to like me—and most of them do—but Donna’s opinion is the only one that really matters. As long as she can still tolerate me, I’m good.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam says suddenly, “I’m happy you’re happy. You deserve it. You both deserve it, and I’m happy you found happiness together. You’re going to have a great life.”

I look out across the roof at Donna again, somehow not surprised to find that she and CJ are now slow-dancing. We have some pretty great friends, something I knew before today. That they went through all this trouble, though, and planned a second reception for us is above and beyond anything I could have expected. Everyone here has high-pressure, demanding jobs and I know they’re all exhausted, but everyone has put all that aside to celebrate with us. It’s pretty amazing.

“Yeah,” I finally answer. “Yeah, we are.”

“And just think! Our kids are going to grow up together! How amazing is that?”

My head whips over to him, my eyebrows reaching for the sky. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He grins at me from ear to ear but shakes his head. “Haley’s not pregnant…yet. We’re working on it, though.”

“Good for you,” I answer. “You’ll be a great dad.”

“You will, too,” he answers, nodding sagely.

“ _Now_ are you trying to tell me something?”

He blinks at me a few times before he laughs. “That came out wrong. I have no idea if Donna’s pregnant. I just mean at some point.”

“You’re not planning to move back to L.A.?”

“No current plans.”

“Not after we leave office?”

“Well, with any luck, that’s still a bunch of years off. We haven’t discussed it yet, honestly. Even if we did, though, there’s no reason our kids couldn’t be in each other’s lives, right?”

“Tricky, what with being on opposite coasts and all, but sure, our nonexistent children could find ways to spend time together.”

“You and Donna could move to California,” he suggests. “You could join my old firm.”

I let out a chuckle and shake my head. “Donna and I have been married for almost eight hours; I don’t think we’re looking to relocate quite yet. Besides, by that point, Donna’ll probably in charge of, I don’t know, the world? I’ll follow where she leads. She hasn’t steered me wrong yet.”

Sam laughs, too. “You’ve really been married to her for years, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I have.” I suppose, from a certain perspective, I’ve been behaving like a married man when it comes to Donna for a very long time. If nothing else, needing her voice to be the first thing I heard every day—to the point that I had her call me most mornings to be my own personal alarm clock—should have been a dead giveaway. I know there are a million other things I’ve done over the years that would lead just about anyone to think Donna has been my wife for some time. Hell, I used to check in with her before I went out to a bar for the evening to make sure it was okay and to confirm that we didn’t have any sort of plans.

I’m just glad that it’s now all official. I get to be whipped without it being strange. I get to say I’m going home to my wife. More than that, I actually have a wife to go home to. Not that I haven’t been going home to and with Donna for the last couple of years, but it’s different now. It’s definitely better. As much as I sort of hate that it took us this long to get here, it was entirely worth the wait.

Sam starts tapping on his glass, breaking everyone out of their spells. “I want to make a toast!”

Donna grins at me and I hold my hand out to her, both of us walking to each other until we’re within reach.

“Is he drunk?” she whispers through her teeth, the smile never leaving her face.

“Oh, definitely,” I answer. I glance at her, not surprised to see her eyes twinkling. Drunk Sam is a very rare occurrence, and he’s always super affectionate and nostalgic when he is. It’s kind of nice that he brought it out for our wedding.

“God, I hope someone’s filming this.”

“I want to propose a toast to Josh and Donna, my best friends in the entire world. You both know I’m a man of many words, and though I’ve already written and delivered a toast for you tonight, I’m still having trouble expressing just how happy I am for the two of you.” He pauses and looks down at his shoes for a few moments, and clears his throat.

“I think…is he crying?” I whisper in Donna’s ear.

“Don’t be mean,” she answers, elbowing me in the ribs.

“I’m not! I’m just wondering.”

He finally composes himself, smiling out at the rooftop full of people. “I know you both waited a long time for this—for all of this. It’s been such a joy seeing you so happy the last couple of years, and I know that this next part is going to be even better for you. Now, I know that marriage isn’t the be all and end all for everyone, and that’s all right. I also know that marriage isn’t the magic secret to endless happiness but I have no doubt—not one single, tiny shred of doubt—that being married is going to be so good for you. It’s _your_ next step. Whatever happens, whatever life throws at you, you’ll get through it because you’re going to be together forever. We may not be able to count on much in this world, but I know for a fact that Josh and Donna will be in it together until the end. They’re meant to be. If anyone ever wants to know what it means to be happy, they need look no further than our friends.” He pauses again, his eyes suspiciously bright, and lifts his glass into the air. “To Josh and Donna!”

There’s applause and cheering and I’m not surprised to see that my wife’s cheeks are wet. “Damn it. How was that better than his first toast?” she exclaims. I laugh and pull a packet of tissues out of my pocket, and she grabs one gratefully.

“He’s something else,” I admit, not surprised when Donna reaches up and dabs at my face. I’ve resembled a leaky faucet tonight and I have no shame about it. I got to marry the love of my life—it’s an emotional experience.

Without warning, I reach out and wrap my arms around her, tilting her back. She laughs in surprise, her eyes shining, and I press my lips to hers, kissing her once again.


	9. Chapter 9

Slowly, bit by bit, my eyes open. Everything is dim, sort of gray and hazy, but daylight is seeping around the curtains. My head is fuzzy—not fuzzy like I had too much to drink or am still drunk, but definitely fuzzy. I feel like I’ve been run over.

I feel a weight across my stomach and it only takes me another moment to realize it’s Josh’s arm thrown across me in his sleep and now deadweight. I lift my head a little, going to grab his arm so I can readjust it and blink in surprise. I’m in my wedding dress.

I chuckle to myself; I _did_ get married yesterday, didn’t I? It was pretty amazing, if memory serves.

I pause and lift my head a little more, blinking a few more times. I’m still in my wedding dress? I look more closely at Josh, and he’s definitely wearing his tuxedo, or at least most of it.

My head drops back to my pillow. I try to figure it all out, but I only barely remember us getting home last night—or rather, early this morning. It was after two, I remember that much. Our second reception was still going strong when we left, and I remember being so exhausted that I could hardly remain upright. Despite how amorous he was feeling earlier in the evening, Josh looked pretty dead on his feet, too.

Now that some of the fog is starting to clear, I remember sitting down on our bed to finally take off my shoes—and I wiggle my toes just to verify—and…that’s all I remember. I trace my fingers over Josh’s palm, smiling to myself when it twitches. It looks like we both sat down last night and fell over backwards as we passed out. Talk about one hell of a wedding night.

Then again, this seems to be a running theme, at least amongst people I know. I remember CJ saying she and Danny fell asleep almost as soon as they got back to their hotel room after their wedding. I’m pretty sure Sam said something similar happened to him and his wife Haley. Planning a wedding is fairly exhausting. Honestly, it’s more than a little amusing that so many people who’ve spend so much time working at the White House, sometimes hardly pausing to go home, getting four or five hours of sleep a night for weeks at a time, have all been taken down by their own weddings.

Or, maybe it’s not amusing at all. Maybe I’m still exhausted and loopy and have no ability to think straight.

I tickle Josh’s palm again and turn to check the time, my eyes going wide when I see that it’s almost nine. I honestly don’t remember the last time I slept this late. I’d be willing to bet it’s been even longer for Josh. Needed or not, it feels weird. I feel like I’ve lost part of my day. Not to mention that we have a brunch gathering with our families and friends and any other long-distance people still in town at eleven. That means our parents will be here at in an hour and a half at the latest; we both need to shower before they get here, and it’s going to take me forever to get out of this gown, even with Josh helping me.

“Josh?” I pause when my voice comes out as a croak, clearing the sleep from my throat. “Wake up.” I nudge him with my shoulder, my only answer a snore. I roll my eyes and shift myself up onto my elbow. “C’mon, honey, time to get up.” He smacks his lips a couple of times before he lets out another snore. “My super sexy husband,” I whisper. Finally, I reach up and flick his nose, not even bothering to contain my laughter as he sputters and jerks halfway to a seated position.

“Whasgoinon?” he mumbles, blinking sleepily, his head swiveling in a million different directions before he lands on me. “Are you all right?”

I just shake my head and roll my eyes, still laughing. “Josh.”

He blinks at me a few times, still obviously confused. “What’s happening right now?”

“It’s time to wake up.”

He cocks his head at me and flops back to the bed, sighing. “Nah,” he answers, turning onto his side and pulling a pillow over his head.

I grab the pillow from him before he can get settled and give him a gentle whack with it. “It’s nine in the morning; it’s time to get up.”

He scowls at me for a few long moments before his eyes grow wide, looking over at the alarm clock for verification. “How the hell did we sleep so late?”

I pause for a few moments, waiting to see if the wedding clothes register, but he seems fairly out of it. “We need to get moving. It won’t be long before our parents are here.”

His expression softens and he props himself up on his elbow. “Good morning, wife.”

“Good morning, husband.”

He scoots toward me, wrapping his arm around my waist as he presses his lips to mine. I can tell he’s still partially asleep by the way he kisses me, his mouth moving leisurely against mine. It’s not hard to get swept away in it. Knowing that I’m kissing my husband is a very heady experience.

He pulls back suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Why are you still in your wedding dress?”

“Probably the same reason you’re still in your tux.”

He looks down at himself, patting his clothes in disbelief. “Why am I still in my tux?”

I sigh; he really can be a little oblivious at times. “Well, I don’t remember much about getting home last night, but I know I was exhausted.”

“We didn’t even have sex on our wedding night?”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing—he looks so crestfallen. “It seems not.”

He flops onto his back, frowning. “Wow. Some husband I am.”

“We have our whole lives to have sex, Josh. I’m not worried about one night.”

“Yeah, but isn’t the wedding night…you know, important?”

I maneuver myself closer to him, or at least as close as I can around my dress. “I think it was fifty years ago, when it was their first time sleeping together ever. I conquered _that_ beast a long time ago.”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and flips us over suddenly—a lot faster than I would have anticipated, considering he still seems half asleep—landing on top of me. “Well, we can have celebratory sex now, right? Consummate this whole thing?” Before I can answer, he kisses me and I get lost in it. It would be so easy to forget the outside world. I could just stay in bed all day with my husband.

With a sigh, I push at his shoulders, trying to get some space. “Babe, we can’t.”

He huffs a little, chasing after my lips. “Donna!”

I push at him again and he slides off me, looking none too thrilled. “Honey, we have to meet everyone in less than two hours.”

“Two hours? I like to think I have decent staying power, but even I don’t need two hours.”

I chuckle a little, readjusting my head on my pillow. “We _both_ have to get cleaned up, and it’s probably going to take at least half an hour to get me out of this dress, and I’m going to need your help with it. Not to mention that you know our parents will be here sooner than that.”

“But…”

“Josh, the first time we have married sex, I don’t want it to be rushed. Ideally, I’d like _none_ of the times we have sex to be rushed, but especially not now.” His face softens a bit, and I know he knows I’m right. “And I really don’t want to have to get up and do stuff after. I want to lie around in a post-coital haze without wondering if my parents are going to start knocking on our door. Everyone will be gone by this afternoon and we don’t leave for our honeymoon until tomorrow morning.” I press myself against him, wrapping my arm around his waist. “We’ll make love, then order in dinner, and do it again. Just you and me. No friends, no family, no deadlines, no phone calls, just the two of us doing whatever the hell we want.”

He groans and presses his lips to mine, kissing me slowly. When he pulls back, his pupils are dilated and he’s breathing heavily. “Why did we decide to travel for our honeymoon? We could have just stayed here and not wasted any time on a plane.”

I smile, kissing him again. “Because leaving the country is the only way to mostly guarantee that we won’t be disturbed. If I had thought for a second that we could stay here and be left alone, I would have been all for it.”

He makes a noise but I can tell he agrees; if people know he’s nearby, they have a difficult time leaving him be. Our rare free weekends are always interrupted to some degree, if nothing else by someone calling to ask a few questions. Those I can handle; it’s when someone drops by with a bunch of paperwork or something that they believe absolutely cannot wait until Monday and definitely can’t be handled by someone else that it starts to get tedious. Usually, if there’s something that Josh absolutely needs to handle, he gets a call from the White House; President Santos, Sam, security, someone like that. They don’t drop by. The people that have shown up at our door are usually met with an ass-chewing when Josh finds out the problem wasn’t actually a problem, didn’t need to be handled by him, and definitely could have waited until he was back in the office. When Josh reaches the boiling point, it’s almost always because three or four people have already come over with the same situation. He’s been trying his hardest to delegate to others—and I know that was really hard for him—and use the people he brought on board to the best of their abilities, but I suppose it’s a learning curve. Still, that’s all the more reason to get away when we can, especially for our honeymoon. If we’d decided to stay home and someone knocked on our door for anything less than a matter of national security, I don’t think I could be held responsible for my actions.

He settles in to kiss me again, his hand sliding up my neck and into my hair. Without being prompted, he starts fishing for the pins that are still somehow keeping my hair in place, pulling them out one by one. It takes him only a few minutes to find them all and he massages my scalp afterward, making me all but purr. He’s making it very tough to stick to my guns; who wants to get up and shower and get ready for the day when I could just lie here with my husband, kissing each other endlessly?

With a groan I push him away again, breathing heavily. He groans, too, but he nods, knowing what I’m trying to say without having to hear the words. He turns over to his nightstand for a few moments before flipping back over triumphantly, holding up our camera. I prop myself up on my elbow, looking at him curiously. “Why isn’t that packed? And more importantly, why is over there?”

Josh just grins, settling onto his back once more. He snakes an arm under me, pulling me close. “I wanted to bring the camera with us to brunch today so I unpacked it before the wedding. I figured we wouldn’t have any of our fancy-ass photographers with us so we might want to document it all somehow. I left it on my nightstand so I’d have a shot of actually remembering the thing.” He holds his arm out, pointing the camera at us. “Smile!”

I immediately bury my face in his neck, shaking my head. “Josh! I probably look like a raccoon! You can’t take a picture of me like this!”

“Donna, you look amazing. You always look amazing, and I don’t think your makeup has budged since you walked down the aisle.”

I peek up at him, somehow not surprised to find him gazing down at me. “Really?”

“Donna,” he whines, rocking me back and forth a little. “ _Yes_. Take a picture with me! It’s our first picture as husband and wife.”

I snort, lifting my face so I can situate it next to his—I’ll just have to take his word about the raccoon part. “Not hardly. Are you forgetting the hundreds of pictures we took last night?”

“This is different. That was bride and groom stuff but this—waking up together in our bed the day after our wedding—is all about being husband and wife.”

“I think your logic is flawed but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Whatever, just smile.”

As if I have to be told to smile right now. I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since yesterday. I’m pretty sure Josh hasn’t, either. He snaps the camera incessantly, taking a million pictures, and I feel such a wave of contentment wash over me. This really feels like it was meant to be. Maybe a lot of people saw this coming a very long time ago; maybe _most_ people saw this coming a long time ago, if the toasts we’ve received over the last few days are any indication, but I didn’t. I knew I wanted this to happen. I’ve known from almost the beginning that I wanted to be with Josh in some capacity but I had no idea that I’d wind up here.

Well, maybe over the last few years I had some sort of inkling, but before we hooked up on Election Night, it was all just wishful thinking, and no matter how much you know you want something, you sort of hold your breath until it happens.

I turn my head a little, looking at his profile. He looks so happy it makes my heart stutter. The dimple in his cheek is deep, there are little lines at the corner of his eye that only show up when he smiles, and I love him more in this moment than I have ever before.

“Being with you is better than anything I could have imagined,” I whisper, my voice choked.

He whips his head toward me, his eyes wide. “What?” he asks, his voice soft.

I smile, feeling tears fill my eyes. “Being with you is better than anything I could have imagined,” I repeat. “Every part of it. Working with you all those years, becoming your friend, knowing I could lean on you when I needed to, it was all amazing, but nothing has been better than the last couple of years. Getting to be in love with my best friend is beyond amazing. I’m so happy that we’re married because I can’t wait to see what comes next.”

He turns onto his side, wrapping his arm over my waist, the camera forgotten somewhere on the bed. His eyes are wet, too, but he’s smiling broadly. “I love you beyond words. Everything you just said goes double for me. We’re going to have an amazing life. People are gonna write stories about us.”

I snicker, pressing myself into him. “I doubt that, honey.”

“They will!” he insists. “They’re gonna erect monuments to our relationship. We’re gonna be the standard to which all other relationships are held. People will wish they could love each other as much as we do. And we’ll just get to sit around, being happy.”

This man is silly, but I love his enthusiasm. Most people will not give a damn if we’re happy or if our marriage is going well, but it’s wonderfully sweet that he thinks it, even if it’s just a result of marital bliss. I press a kiss to his neck, breathing him in. I get to have this unbridled enthusiasm for the rest of my life. It might be exhausting to anyone else, but Josh’s genuine thirst for life is something that thrills me. I thrive on it. I don’t know that he’d ever admit that he feels that way about life in general, but I’ve known him long enough to know that he’s a big softy when it comes to the little things.

It can be our secret, though.

I let out a sigh and push myself away from him, rolling awkwardly off the bed. “We have to get going, Josh. I really would love nothing more than to lie here with you all day but…”

“Parents,” he answers, pushing himself off the bed, too. “Families, friends, blah blah blah.”

He’s still grinning from ear to ear, so I know he’s just kidding about the “blah blah blah” part.

“All of that,” I answer, sweeping my hair over my shoulder and turning my back to him. “Help please.”

He makes a little noise and I can feel him tugging at one of the many tiny buttons that have done such a nice job of keeping my dress in place for more than twenty hours.

“I swear,” he mumbles, “this dress was designed by a sadist, someone who gets their rocks off by torturing brand new husbands on their wedding nights. If we’d been more awake when we got home last night, I would have torn all these buttons off.” I turn my head, glaring at him as best I can. “I said what I said.”

I chuckle a little but remain silent, happy that I have someone willing to help me in and out of ridiculous dresses for the rest of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter/epilogue coming soon!


	10. Chapter 10

_Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind_

I stretch and scratch my hands through my hair, trying in vain to smooth it down a few seconds later, knowing I’ll catch hell from Donna—she never misses an opportunity to harass me for my hair standing up in all directions. She gets an even bigger kick out of it when it’s so soon after I’ve washed it, wildly entertained that I’m unable to contain myself for very long.

I chuckle to myself—what have I gotten myself into? Promising to spend the rest of my life with this woman who takes such great joy in mocking me? I must be crazy.

Of course, it’s fair to say that she has taken great joy in mocking me the entire time I’ve known her, and I’ve always come back for more. I guess I love the abuse.

I guess I just love _her_. I feel a grin take over my entire face.

The hair dryer turns on for the millionth time in the last half an hour and I groan a little. How many times does she actually have to dry her hair? I’ve lived with her for two years and I’ve never known her to use that device repeatedly like she is today.

I’m smart enough to know not to question it, though. I have managed to learn _that_ in my time with Donna; I just get out of the way of her morning routine. She’s a little on edge today, though, because she feels like she’s running behind and that tends to make her crabby. Her motto is, “To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, to be late is to be dead.” Whatever the hell that means. We’re not even in any danger of running late right now because we’re not supposed to meet everyone until eleven; we’ve got another forty minutes or so. I don’t think anyone would begrudge the newlyweds for being a few minutes late anyway, but Donna can’t stand the thought of it.

It did take a while to get her out of her wedding gown—it has about a million buttons and they’re all tiny, plus all I wanted to do was kiss her and we didn’t have time for that, which left not a lot of time to shower and since she wouldn’t let me shower with her, that whole process took even longer. Granted, it took me all of five minutes to shower after she was finished, and maybe another five minutes after that to dry off and get dressed, all while Donna’s still drying her hair.

I can see why she threatens to throw things at me from time to time. I would probably get irritated, too, if I was in her shoes…in more ways than one.

The hair dryer switches off again. “Time check?” she yells across the apartment.

I glance at my watch. “Quarter after ten.”

She lets out a squeak and the dryer starts up again. “I don’t know why you’re so panicked,” I say, though I know she can’t hear me over the noise. “It’s not like it can start without us.” Chances are, anyone who shows up to this brunch thing isn’t going to be there at eleven on the dot.

The dryer stops again, but this time I can hear her putting it away, the drawer it lives in sliding shut with a _thunk_. Next comes her makeup process which I discovered one day, as she gave me a horrified look, can _not_ be done before drying her hair in case the dryer, I don’t know, melts her face? Honestly, I had no idea that she even wore makeup until we got back from Hawaii a couple of years ago. She didn’t put any on while we were out there and I really had given it zero thought before then. It wasn’t until we got back to work that I found out she has a whole morning routine that equals about an hour less of time in bed with her. I’m not a fan. I catch such hell from her any time I convince her lie around with me or have sex before work. Granted, she doesn’t take a lot of convincing, and all it really means is she spends less time on her makeup. Other than it covers up the bulk of her freckles, I can’t really tell the difference. I honestly think she looks great no matter what.

Still, I’m not taking the fall for this morning. We passed out before we could set an alarm—and I think we were both well within our rights to have no energy last night. I mean, if you can’t even manage to change out of your wedding clothes, remembering anything else seems very unlikely.

I pause and try to listen to what she’s doing in there, but all I can hear are little lids being popped open. I tried watching the process a couple of times but it was baffling. She does her entire face up in the morning and has to undo it all at night, and that process can take forever, too. It doesn’t seem worth it.

Whatever makes her happy, though.

Meanwhile, I’m going to fall asleep waiting for her. I’m going to need large amounts of coffee if I want to be able to celebrate our marriage with her later today.

I laugh to myself a little—we’re actually married. Donna’s my wife. It’s so surreal.

And I’m the guy that knows his wife’s makeup routine. That makes me laugh again. I made the mistake of mentioning this to Sam one time, expecting commiseration of some sort. He wasn’t married at that point but he’d been with Haley for some time and, while I still have no idea if she wears makeup, I figured Sam would at least understand on some level how disgraced I felt knowing that Donna has such an in depth routine and that I was getting to the point that I knew parts of the process. That’s when I discovered that Sam found nothing out of the ordinary about this at all. He knows what kind of makeup she uses and buys it for her when she’s running low without a bit of concern about losing his “man card.” I found out in that same conversation that he frequently buys her tampons, too, and was actually surprised to find that I don’t do the same for Donna. Of course, she’s never asked me to. I would if she needed me to, though—I’ve discovered that much about myself, even though I think it would make me wildly uncomfortable.

I’m starting to think Sam’s a lot more evolved than I am, and more than a lot of the other guys I know, too.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts and Donna squeaks again. “I’m not ready!” she exclaims.

I let out a sigh and answer the door, knowing only so many people are really allowed to knock on our door without us getting a call to announce a visitor. My mom pokes her head in, pushing her way through the door before I even have a chance to fully open it.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Donna’s not ready and it’s very distressing.”

She chuckles, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug as Donna calls out, “I heard that!”

“Marriage,” I mumble, chuckling when my mom gives me a flick on my back. It’s all an act—Donna hates the feeling of being late and I love teasing her about it, and it’s a dance we’ve done for years. I move to let go of my mother but she just tightens her grip on me, squeezing me harder.

“You’re married,” she whispers. “My little boy is married.” She sniffles and I hold her a little tighter in response. “I’m sorry, darling; I just need a minute.”

My mother has been an emotional wreck since yesterday. I’m a little surprised that it’s hitting her this hard; she should be dancing in the streets with joy over getting her middle-aged son to finally commit to a woman but she constantly seems shocked by it all. Maybe there’s no age limit to feeling the enormity of it all.

Mom sniffles and pulls back, holding onto my forearms as she peers into my eyes. “So? How does it feel?”

“Pretty great,” I answer honestly. “I’m exhausted—we both are, really. We didn’t even have the energy to get changed last night.”

“Really?” she asks, her eyebrows reaching for the sky.

“Woke up in my wedding dress,” Donna answers, hurrying out to the living room. She puts a small pile of jewelry on our little dining table and wraps my mom up in a hug. “I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

Mom chuckles, kissing Donna’s cheek. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You two have been very busy the last few weeks.”

“Try the last ten years,” I answer.

Mom gives me a look as she releases my wife. “And somehow, adding a wedding to the mix is the one thing that seems to have slowed you down.”

Before I can answer, Donna’s disappearing down the hall again. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m almost done! I’m sorry, Mrs—Alice. I don’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I’m early, sweetheart,” she answers. “There’s no rush.”

“Have you talked to my parents this morning?”

“Yes; they were rounding up your brothers and their families and said they would meet everyone at the restaurant so I thought I’d come here and ride with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t mind,” she answers, reappearing again, somehow looking more composed than just moments ago, her wildly uncomfortable-looking shoes dangling from her fingers. Donna drops the shoes and grabs her jewelry, leaning into a little mirror she strategically placed in the entrance of the apartment, right above the little table where we toss our keys, and starts to put in her earrings. I notice they’re the diamond studs I got her two Christmases ago. I vaguely remember her telling me yesterday that she wasn’t allowed to wear either those or the necklace I bought her for the night of the Inauguration because she was told she wears them all the time so they weren’t special enough. That wasn’t a conversation I wanted to get involved in, mostly because it would result in my blood pressure rising to dangerous levels. She wound up wearing jewelry that belonged to a great grandmother of hers, though, so I think she was happy with it. At any rate, she does wear the diamonds a lot. I’ve told her she shouldn’t feel obligated—because she does have a _lot_ of other jewelry—but she just looks at me like I’m nuts when I say that.

A moment later, she comes over to me and hands me the necklace, turning her back to me. I drape it around her neck and pause while she lifts her hair out of the way, taking a deep breath as her just-out-of-the-shower smell hits me. “You smell good,” I whisper, fumbling with the clasp of her necklace.

She turns her head a little, smiling. “Thank you, honey.”

She’s mean. She knows what she’s doing to me right now. She knows that for a long time, the best I could do was be aware of her perfume, that it was part of our long, drawn-out courting ritual. I still haven’t told her that I’d sometimes try to imagine that smell on my pillows and what it’d be like to wake up to that, or that on the very rare occasions I found myself in possession of a piece of her clothing, it would inevitably wind up under my pillow so I could try to feel like she was there. That’s something I’ll probably take to my grave.

As soon as the necklace is in place, I run my hands down her arms, amazed that her skin is already cold, and that’s when I realize her dress is sleeveless. “Donna, you’re going to freeze out there.”

She steps out of my grasp and rolls her eyes at me playfully. “I have a sweater, Josh. This isn’t my first winter.”

“Yeah, but…” I gesture at her helplessly. Only this woman would wear a dress with no sleeves at this time of year. The snow from yesterday has turned into rainy slush this morning, and if I’m not mistaken, the temperature has only dropped since then. She steps into her shoes—also impractical for the winter weather—and I gesture at those, too, hoping she doesn’t manage to fall and break her neck out there, when I pause. My eyes travel up the length of her body, taking in her long legs and moving up to follow her soft curves. Her dress—a soft pink kind of color, a color she seems to wear a lot—is technically modest, falling just below her knees, but it hugs her body enticingly. I’ve always thought Donna looks good in anything she wears, but after she became Chief of Staff, she went on a few shopping sprees and wound up with an almost entirely new wardrobe. If I thought she looked good before we got together, she’s looked completely irresistible ever since. I’m vaguely aware that my mother knows I’m checking out my wife—drooling over her is more like it—but I can’t bring myself to care. “You look… _wow_.”

A slow smile lights up her face, like the compliment caught her completely off-guard. Her cheeks turn just the lightest shade of pink, matching her dress perfectly. She’s so beautiful, I can’t stand it. I step closer to her, my hands sliding around her waist. Her arms drape over my shoulders, her shoes putting us mostly at eyelevel. “Yeah?” she whispers, and I wonder how she can question my sincerity for even a second.

“Yeah.” I press my lips to hers, holding her tight. Her fingers thread through my hair at the nape of my neck, sending tingles down my spine. I want to stay in this moment forever, and it occurs to me that I can. I’m spending the rest of my life with this magnificent woman. We have a million of these moments in store for us.

“All right, all right,” my mom says suddenly, breaking through our little bubble. “Save it for the honeymoon. You’ll have plenty of time to work on giving me a grandchild then.”

“Ma!” I exclaim, burying my face in Donna’s shoulder. “Come on! You’re killing me.” I can hear Donna giggle and I look up at her accusingly. “Traitor.”

She just shakes her head, pressing her cheek to mine. “Practice makes perfect,” she breathes into my ear. “And I have a feeling I’m going to need a _lot_ of practice for that.”

And I’m right back to turned on. “You’re cruel.”

“Just a couple more hours,” she promises, kissing my earlobe before pulling away. My mother is eyeing us pointedly, as if somehow trying to will us into procuring a grandchild for her at that very moment. I’m not at all clear on why my mother is so adamant on having grandchildren, but she’s been demanding it for years now. The hints and jabs were bad enough when I was single, and she’s been focused on it in the most unsettling way since I started seeing Donna, but she’s never explained why she wants them other than all her friends have them. That sort of argument never worked when I was a kid—in fact, I distinctly remember getting “if your friends jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you?” speech on more than one occasion growing up.

“You’ll get grandkids when we’re good and ready and not a second before,” I tell my mom. Her mouth drops open, a retort ready, and I hold up my hand. “Ah-ah. When we’re ready.” I glance over at Donna, who’s shrugging into her sweater, for confirmation. She nods emphatically, clearly not ready for kids to be on the table just yet, either. “When we’re ready,” I confirm.

My mother just chuckles. “You’ll see,” she says, shaking her head. She keeps talking before I can answer. “Let’s get going. The roads aren’t too bad but I imagine your driver will want to be cautious anyway.” She pulls open the door and smiles at Gus before heading down the hallway.

I pull on my heavy wool coat then grab Donna’s, holding it out for her. “Have I mentioned lately how excited I am that everyone’s leaving today?” I ask.

“This brunch is going to be interminable,” she mumbles. “Don’t get me wrong; I love my parents _and_ your mother, but I get the feeling they’re going to do nothing but talk about us having kids for the next several hours.”

I grab her hands and pull them to my chest, keeping her close. “We’re not…doing that yet, right? I mean, just so we’re on the same page?”

“Definitely not yet,” she agrees. “We both need to stand firm because they’re going to come at us pretty hard. Now that we’re married it’s going to be open season on my uterus.”

“That’s a _delightful_ mental image, honey, thank you for that.”

“Gross imagery aside, you know it’s true. They’ve been bugging us about it for more than a year now—”

“More like two years,” I interrupt.

“And that’s my point. It’s not going to get any better from here on out so a united front is essential. When someone starts asking when we’re having kids, we don’t engage. We only tell them that it’ll happen when we’re ready and do our best to ignore the knowing smiles and well-intended condescension and stand by our statement. When we’re ready, we’ll have kids…or when nature takes over and makes the choice for us.”

“Do you really think that’ll happen?”

“Well, it’s not like any birth control is completely effective. Anything’s possible.” I can feel the blood draining from my face as the possibilities start to overwhelm me. I think about the women I’ve slept with over the years and how I could have possibly knocked them up and what that would mean. Truthfully, it’s a little overwhelming to think about it happening with Donna, too, no matter how much I love her. We’ve had a lot of sex over the last couple of years and for a good portion of that time, we’ve only relied on one form of birth control. “Hey,” she says, grabbing my face and effectively bringing me back to the moment. “It would still be on our terms, yeah? Even if we doubled up on the protection and got pregnant anyway, it wouldn’t have anything to do with parental expectations. And I don’t want you panicking about any of this yet. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Yeah,” I manage to answer, a little breathlessly.

“Come back to me, babe. Don’t get in your head about any of this. We just got married and we should celebrate that and tell our well-meaning family to mind their own business.”

I take a deep breath and focus on Donna’s eyes. They’re pleading with me to get a grip on myself and I work to shake myself out of it. I don’t know why this sets me off like this—because I know I do want to have kids with Donna—other than the idea of it is just too much sometimes. I know Donna feels the same way because she tends to get the same glazed-over look I know was just on my face when the topic is pushed. She’s not interested in demanding kids yet; it’s never been her agenda.

“Right,” I finally answer. “Sorry. It’s all just…”

“I know,” she says, her thumbs stroking my cheeks. “One step at a time, though, right?”

I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She responds eagerly, though we try to keep it gentle. The last thing I want to do is give my mother more ammunition, especially if we’re going to be trapped in a car with her for the next twenty minutes.

Donna sighs, pulling back from me fractionally. I try chasing after her but she puts her thumbs over my lips, stopping me from kissing her. “We have to go.” I whine a little and she just grins. “I know. We’ll have fun, I promise. Then we’ll come home and have a different kind of fun.”

I try to pull her close again but she deftly slips out of my arms and into the hallway. I grab her little purse off the coat rack before she has to ask and follow her, pulling the apartment door shut behind me. I nod at Gus, who mostly ignores me as usual. In the light of morning, it’s a little hard to believe he helped get Donna and me to our second reception last night, but it’s nice to know he has a squishy center buried deep in there.

Donna grabs her purse from me then threads her fingers through mine, giving my hand a squeeze. “I didn’t tell you this, but you look good, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” I can’t help it; I feel myself puff up a little with the praise.

“ _Oh, yeah,_ ” she answers, her eyes raking over me in a way that’s absolutely predatory. She gives my hand a tug, pulling me down the hall. “And you should probably know I’m not wearing any underwear.”

I groan, and I can hear Gus try to stifle a snort. I’m mostly sure she’s just screwing with me, but it’s going to drive me to distraction until I get to find out.

One thing’s for sure; life with Donna will never be dull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me on this one. It took me longer than I expected, but a lot of this imagery has been in my head for a couple of years now—‘bout time I got it out. I wish I had something more eloquent to say, but thanks for your support and positive feedback with this one. I’ll leave you with the usual mumbo jumbo: Be kind to each other. Don’t gatekeep fandoms. Your head cannon isn’t anyone else’s head cannon, so don’t be garbage to someone who sees it in a different way. Don’t be mean to other writers, especially if you somehow see them as competition because none of us are getting paid for this. Wash your hands. Wear a mask. Get your cats spayed and neutered.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come...


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